The Broken Chain
by Jakkani
Summary: Slavery and bondage has beaten submissiveness into young Felix and his brother Everett. When a troll scientist/huntress decides to steal away Felix and tame him like a pet,his world gets turned upside down. Everett goes on a quest to find his younger brother, but will the troll begin to develop feelings for her own pet? Rated MA for blood, dismemberment, and sex. A very dark story.
1. Chapter 1

Yes, yes, I know. I've been gone for a while and havent updated _shit_. I know you are all mad at me, more than likely, but I've been busy thinking up a couple of new concepts. I hope you enjoy my new story, and find it in your heart to forgive me.

-**NetherscreamNordune**

* * *

The whip cracked out, biting into his flesh and causing him to cringe. Florian collapsed to his knees with a groan, his chains drawing taut as he cradled his bleeding wrist. He could see droplets staining the dry, red earth below him, but whether they were tears or blood he could not say. Through teary eyes he looked up to see his master standing over him, coiling his whip around his arm, his breath reeking heavily of alcohol. "And you'll get another if you don't get this whole dam' field done by sundown. If you try to run, boy, I'll take those pretty little hands off, too." Janos unsheathed a dirk with his free hand, wickedly curved and caked with dried blood, waving it in front of his face. Florian tried to scrabble away in the dirt as his wide eyes followed the dull saw-like edge of the knife, but his shackles held him firm. Janos chuckled grimly, watching the expression change on the boys face. "But you already knew that, right?"  
His eyes narrowed at the cowering boy as the silence lapsed. "What are you, dumb or something? Answer _me!_" He stepped to him without warning and kicked him in the ribs, hard, the iron toe knocking him on his side with a grunt and a cloud of dust. He grinned, showing a partial row of yellow teeth. With that he spat on him and turned. Florian watched from the ground as he walked off, back into his shed, slamming the door behind him. He stared after Janos for a long time, trying to decide whether he should live or die.  
Dying would be easier, he knew. All he had to do was lay there, the earth beneath his head, and close his eyes. If Janos didn't find him sleeping in his field and kill him, the fever would- For days now the fever had been burning through Florian, turning his bowels to brown water and making him shiver in restless sleep. Each morning found him weaker than the day before, and laboring in the fields wasn't helping him. _It won't be much longer;_ he had taken to telling himself.  
If not Janos or the fever, then starvation surely would kill him. Janos fed them less and less every day, keeping more bread for himself and selling the rest to buy his wine. Stealing and eating anything that sprouted from the earth of Janos' farm earned him thirty lashes—he learned that the hard way, and was hesitant to ever do so again. The occasional crow landed on the farm, but was too quick to be caught, so Florian took to throwing rocks at them. But he had no strength in his tiny limbs, and was weakened even more by labor and fever, so when the rocks finally did strike true the crows simply _quorked _in annoyance and took to the skies. Of rabbits and rats there were none to speak of, for even they abandoned the desert-like land.

Fever; hunger; exhaustion. They were his constant companions, with him every hour of the day, and in time he began to think of them as his friends. Soon enough, one or the other of those friends would take pity on him and free him from his endless misery so that he could die and be forgotten, replaced by another slave a week later. Or perhaps he would try to run for his freedom, like his mother. Janos had made a sport of it, hunting her through the forest with his pack of snarling dogs. When he finally caught her, he slowly peeled off ribbons of her flesh like the skin of a potato. It was a long, drawn out death, only barely worse than his own fate. He threw down a flap of skin in front of Florian and Everett, and told them "Let that be a lesson to you." Her blood, dried and brown, still dotted the blade of his knife.  
His thoughts dissolved as he heard hastened footsteps approaching. Everett was on him then, wrapping his arms around his brother protectively. He was wearing oversized boots, a plaid shirt and faded overalls, a matching pair of Florian's clothing. "Come, now," He said as his brother quivered in his arms, "don't cry." Florian cried anyway, choking sobs wracking his scrawny body as Everett helped him sit up. "Let me see, it's probably not that bad." Everett rested his hands on his brothers' smaller ones. Slowly, he pried off Florian's blood-soaked fingers to reveal a purple welt snaking up from his wrist, across his palm, curving up and ending near the base of his index finger. Dark blood flowed freely from the wound. The sight of his own blood shocked him more, and his face grew even paler than it naturally was. He opened his mouth in a cry of anguish as tears streamed down his cheeks. "He whipped me, Everett! What did I do? Why did he hit me?"  
His brother said with a sigh, "You didn't do anything wrong. He's just drunk. You know that Janos can be that way when he takes to the bottle." Everett's brow furrowed as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing his own long line of overlapping welts criss-crossing up and down his arms.  
Everett stood, looking around him and Florian. Outside of the plowed earth of Janos' farm endless dirt and patches of crabgrass, with a dozen trees here and there, spread as far as he could see to the south and north over the dry land of Westfall. The occasional hill broke up the landscape, dotted with tiny farms and grain-towers. To the west the land gave way to an endless ocean, the sky slashed with wispy clouds. To the east was a simple dirt road that stretched lazily to the north and south, a thick wall of trees on the far side. A wagon slowly rode up that dirt road, heading north. The dwarf driving it, wearing a giant floppy farmers hat, was completely oblivious to the two young slaves. Soon, the wagon was gone, disappearing over a low hill.  
Everett shook him roughly. All kindness in his brother's eyes was gone. "You know that we need to harvest these pumpkins, Flo, unless you want Janos to whip you again. Get up." He pulled his younger brother to his feet roughly. Everett stared into Florian's eyes, so like his own, the younger boy wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. Florian gasped, _"_Why don't we leave, Everett? I hate this place. I do not know what it feels like to be happy_."  
_Everett looked angry, the way he always did when his brother asked rhetorical questions. "You know damn well why we can't leave," He said, gesturing at the rusty iron ball and chain shackled to Florian's ankles, "He'll cut our hands off if he even hears us talking about this. Imagine us without hands. How will you work? How will I work? You treat the farm well, you know that Janos will let you go free before your twentieth nameday. He's not bad, he just wants you to do your job."  
Florian, pouting, squeaked, _"_I don't want to wait until then. And why do I have to wear these shackles and you don't_?"  
_His brother shrugged offhandedly. "Because I'm eighteen, a man grown," he said, puffing out his chest, "I know my place, my responsibilities, and I do my job. Besides," he said, his eyes downcast, "There is nowhere for us to go without being fugitives. We are bound under lawful contract. He bought us, he feeds us, and he keeps us alive. Janos knows that you're too immature to realize that. You have growing up to do," He finished, pointing at him. He tucked a lock of black hair behind his ear as he turned away, heading back to the other side of the farm.  
_You're only three years older, you damn idiot, _Florian thought, biting his lip. He frowned as he bent over, wrapping his thin fingers around the nearest pumpkin root. _How dare he tell me that I have growing up to do? _He pulled it free from the red earth, stuffing it angrily in his burlap sack, thinking _I hate Janos. I hate this place. I hate Janos. I hate pumpkins. _

Before long, the sun began to set. _I hate Janos. I hate Everett. I hate Janos. I hate myself._

* * *

The azure troll squatted, motionless, in the crook of a great oak tree, a thick layer of leaves keeping her hidden from prying eyes. She bit her lip with sharpened teeth as she studied the human through binoculars. _He is too old, _she thought to herself,_ that won't do...well, maybe… _She shifted her weight with catlike balance, gazing through the binoculars across the road and to the farm, her invention able to see every detail of the young human. He was thin and lanky, with small mounds of muscle and a thick mop of black hair. His flesh was heavily tanned, covered with a sheen of sweat; he had the beginnings of facial hair dotting his square jaw, as well. He wore faded overalls far too large for him, even though he was almost six foot in height. She seemed pleased to be working the earth, harvesting some type of strange orange fruit, the fruit round in nature and about as large as her head.  
She pulled out a small notebook with her free hand, dropping the binoculars and letting them dangle from her neck on a leather thong. Pulling out a pencil, she thumbed it open to a blank page and scribbled _strange fruit. Orange and round, about ten inches in diameter. Plump, probably poisonous. Has a thick, brown root. _Beside it, she drew a small sketch of the strange fruit. She paused, then scribbled _May be a vegetable_ under her notes. She put away the pencil and paper, snatching up her binoculars again and scanning the farm.  
The huntress noticed the second human then, a frail and sickly thing that hobbled oddly as he picked the fruit, as if one of his legs were damaged or crooked. _Or shackled, _she realized. He was smaller than the other human, in both height and muscle, and seemingly younger. He seemed upset about something— his thin brows were knit together in a frown. He had the same hair as the other, thick and black and ear-length, but his skin was alarmingly pale and white._ He seems to be about the right age,_ she thought with a smirk._ They are brothers. If not, cousins. _She watched them until the sun set and the humans slowly made their way back to their shelter, dragging their sacks of fruit behind them.  
_It's dark enough for me to move._ She checked once more for any sign of humans—there was one, a cloaked human riding horseback and coming south on the road towards her, torch in hand, sword and horn hanging at his hip. _He's a sentry, _she realized as her eyes locked on the horn. He was wearing boiled leather with bits of mail over it, and a black hood. Of his face, she could only see a black beard. The troll huntress held her breath as he passed under the branch she hid in, no more than twelve feet directly under her. She could feel the heat of his torch.  
The horse passed under her and before long, he was past, and disappeared to the south over a low rise of land. She waited patiently, forcing herself to count to five thousand. When she was sure he wasn't coming back, she yawned. Bone-tired, she smiled to herself as she lifted the binoculars over her head, careful to move the leather thong around her tusks. She stuffed the binoculars in her backpack and leapt from the branch, down to dry earth far below, her violet dreadlocks trailing behind her.  
She landed silently, looked up and down the road. She crouched and stuck her hands into the thick bushes that surrounded the base of the tree, parting it. The albino panther was inside the bush at the base of the tree with her maw resting on her paws. She opened one eye, regarding the huntress coolly through the gap in the bush with one red eye. The huntress reached in and ruffled the sleek white fur on her head, smiling with pride at how silent her companion had grown. If a horse could pass that closely without noticing her, she was practically invisible. A mound of red gore and pink bone lay beside her in the brush, the bloody remains of some type of squirrel or rabbit that the panther felt the need to turn inside out, even though she was just fed.  
_She must be bored, _she thought. _I hope she doesn't go making trouble with the humans. _Ala'na stretched her long limbs, weaving her fingers and lifting her hands over her head. She yawned with jaw-popping force and stood there, staring at her panther, who stared back at her. Scratching her side, she realized that she'd never seen a panther blink. She put the thought aside for another day as she turned away, walking briskly towards the farm. She tied a bandana around her lower face and around her tusks, masking her.  
As she approached the plowed earth of the farm she crouched low, skirting along the edge of the clearing, all in black leather, knife in hand, goggles on her head, hammer hanging from her belt, longbow strapped across her torso. Her panther trailed behind her, prowling silently across the earth. She reached the door of the shack after some time, grinning wildly with the prospect of a human guinea pig. Her back was against the wall as she thumbed though the quiver that hung from her back, silently counting her shots. The panther took a seat behind her, her eyes scanning the field for signs of trouble. She prayed silently and eased open the wooden door with her free hand, and then looked though the doorway.  
Through her night vision goggles she could see three humans sleeping there, their bodies rising and falling slowly with relaxed breaths. The largest human—although smaller than herself—was sleeping on an old bed, the other two on the floor in the fetal position. The youngest human was shackled, as she had guessed, to a ball and chain. Other than the bed, a rickety table topped with scraps of bread and meat, and a wooden chair with a whip coiled on it, there was no furniture in the room. A stack of the strange fruit was in one corner, with a barrel next to them. The huntress sniffed, and guessed that it was alcohol—the human sleeping on the bed reeked of it, and a rusty knife was near his hand. All of this she analyzed in a split second.  
_Drunk, and armed. There is no way that I can take them without a fight. _Her knuckles tightened around the knife as she entered and crept across the room, as silent as her panther. As a member of the Horde, she harbored no love for humans—or drunks for that matter. The stench of the man's breath amplified as she neared him. She gripped his rusty knife and moved it out of his reach, placing it silently on the table next to the whip.

Then she cupped a hand down over his mouth and slit his throat as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

His eyes exploded open as he thrashed wildly, the red smile at his throat gushing crimson blood all over his body. He grasped and scratched at her biceps as she held him, her arms thin but strong like rope, he tried to bite through her hand, but she wore leather gloves, and finally he stopped kicking, his bloodshot eyes staring into hers as he died. She waited until his eyes dimmed, then removed her hand. _Easy_, she thought coolly.  
Something slammed the back of her head. She blacked out for one instant, blinking wildly, dropping her blade. _The human,_ She had time to think before she was hit again, and again, falling and spinning so that her back was against the wall of the shack to face her attacker. Roaring in his foreign tongue, he hit her again, clipping her temple-the world exploded in a flash of white light and everything spun. Dazed and confused, she planted her feet and lurched forward, bulling into her smaller attacker, causing him to stumble backwards.  
She turned and leapt over the bed and the dead man, crouching on the other side of it, gritting her sharpened teeth. The human regained his balance, swinging the chair blindly in the darkness. She crept around the bed as he swung over and over again, her fists clenched, waiting for her moment. He swung and missed at an enemy that he thought was there, and she sprang forward, catching the side of his jaw with a lunging right hook as he tried to lift the chair again-his head snapped to the side and he went down in a heap of limbs in the doorway. She brought her hand to her scalp and gingerly pulled it away—it was wet with blood. Her thick backpack was the only thing that saved her from being knocked unconscious by the first hit.  
She turned to the last human. His back was against the wall, tears streaming down his cheeks, his eyes wild with fear and panic. He couldn't see her in the darkness of the room, but he put his hands up over his head anyway, waving them wildly, clearly too scared to hurt her. Disregarding him, she produced rope from her pack and knelt over the human's unconscious form, beginning to tie his wrists together. She considered for a moment, looking back and forth from the unconscious human to the panicking one. _The large one is too heavy to carry, _she , she stepped over the unconscious human and neared the other, pulling her hammer from her belt in one smooth motion. She lifted it over her head-  
And brought it down on the chain, shattering it into pieces. She stepped over the ball and shattered chain links, hooking the hammer around her belt and grabbing the human by his thin wrists. He thrashed and kicked as she wrestled him down with an iron grip. He yelled in a foreign tongue, high and shrill. She was still dazed from the blows to her head, but she was many times stronger than him, quickly tying his hands with a length of rope that she produced from her backpack. She tied his feet in a similar fashion.

She paused and stepped back, resting a fist on her hip. Tied up like a pig, his little mouth opened and closed furiously, but the meaning of his foreign words escaped her.  
She went back to the side of the bed and snatched up her knife, wiping the blood off on the bed sheets and sheathing it at a hip. Returning to the boy, she bent at the waist and tried to pick him up, but he kicked and bucked defiantly until she grew impatient. She cuffed him across the temple harder than she meant to, knocking him out cold. She lifted him, slinging him over her shoulder like a sack of oats. Stepping lightly over the unconscious man on the floor, she took one last look at the dead one on the bed, ducked out the door…

…and found herself face to face with a loaded crossbow. Standing behind it was the sentry from earlier, his hood pulled back to reveal a bearded plump face, with beady black eyes and a fat bald head. He said something in a foreign language as her heart thudded in her chest. She didn't respond. His eyes narrowed as he stared down the sight of the crossbow, his finger slowly tightening around the trigger.  
She flinched as a white blur knocked him off his feet and into the wall of the shack with a crash, the crossbow firing a bolt off into the night. Her panther hung from his throat, her claws ravaging the exposed flesh of his face, her feet scratching and tearing through the leather on his stomach. He screamed in wild panic, flailing his arms around and dropping the crossbow, trying to find the horn that hung from his belt. With no success, he brought his hands up instead, trying to guard his flayed face, but by then the leather over his belly was ripped away, and her claws raked through skin and muscle and guts. He stopped flailing and, with one last twitch, fell silent, his entrails spilled out on the earth around him.  
The panther stopped worrying his face and leapt off him, arching her back and roaring under the night sky, her muzzle dripping with crimson. The huntress frowned at her, realizing that she would have to clean the blood and bits of skin off her later. She took off east, in the direction of the forest. She bounded across the dirt road with her long legs, smiling under her goggles as she imagined all of the things she could learn from the human body. Looking over her shoulder, she saw her panther following her into the forest. She trekked through the dark trees carefully, the branches snagging and pulling at her clothing as she passed. Finally, she came to the clearing where her mount waited. The raptor shifted uncomfortably under the saddle, his scales the color of lime, his eyes cautiously watching the troll approach, his tail lashing like a whip. She laid a reassuring hand on his head, looking into the beasts' eyes and smiling around her tusks. Breathing heavily as she caught her breath, she moved to his side, draping the human across the saddle. She hooked her feet into the stirrups and swung up into the saddle in front of him. She squeezed her legs together and whipped the reins. The raptor shrieked and was off, kicking up mounds of dirt behind them. Ducking low to the raptors neck, she grinned and thought, _I have a new pet now, what luck!_


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes cracked open slowly.

Florian stirred and sat up slowly in bed, his body aching with protest. Yawning, he rubbed the sleep out of his rheumy eyes with the back of a floppy red sleeve. He knew that his dreams had been feverish and heavy and sensual, but they fled even as he tried to recall them, like water slipping through his fingers.

A large square room surrounded him, about sixty feet long and wide, the bed being tucked neatly in one corner. The room had a cozy feel to it, crowded with old tables and chairs and cabinets, as well as various shelves with lit candles and thick leather books stacked on top of each other. Dozens of bear and lion pelts lined the floor, overlapping each other. A crackling fireplace was embedded in the center of the left wall, with stacks of firewood piled neatly next to it. The head of some great black gorilla, his face frozen in a death snarl, was sewn to a hardwood plaque and nailed into the wall above the fireplace. There were two closed windows, one opposite him and one near the fireplace, and through the glass he could see that night had fallen.  
A table in the center of the room was crowded with vials of varying sizes and shapes, each one filled with a vivid green or blue or orange liquid, all of them bubbling. Someone sat cross-legged at that desk with its back to him, bent over the table and working, mixing this vial and that. The figure's dreadlocks tumbled down its back in a thick violet ponytail between long, pointed azure ears. A great albino panther with snow-white skin slept at the foot of the table, almost as large as a small pony.

He stared at the curvy backside for a moment, his eyes still half-open with sleep, as the cobwebs of sleep slowly cleared away.

Everything came flashing back to him in an instant—the struggle, the blood everywhere, the she-troll, the capture, his brother, all of it. His stomach plummeted into his bowels, heart thundering madly in his chest until it was all he could hear. He pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his skinny arms around them, freezing in fear, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, his green eyes darting about the room.  
Adrenaline began to flood his veins—through tunnel vision, he saw a door on the opposite wall and leapt out of bed, sprinting towards it. The panther lifted his head in surprise, and then set it back down with a yawn, uninterested. The figure at the table didn't move. He ran past them in a blind panic and yanked open the door, running outside and skidding to a stop, his eyes widening in shock.

Tall, ancient trees circled the house and made a thick canopy above him. Beams of moonlight pierced through the canopy, illuminating spots of the forest floor. The leafy ground, thick and wet and green between his toes, was swarming with insects and foliage. Dozens of different sounds could be heard from various beasts throughout the rainforest, growls and howls. He was definitely _not_ in Westfall anymore, the boy realized. He took a step—

A million volts of electricity ripped though his entire body, bringing him to his knees in blinding pain, clutching at his throat, screaming silently in agony as he convulsed. Red pain engulfed him as he heard a distant crash, his senses fading to black.

* * *

Water droplets fell on his face, causing his eyes to flutter open, waking him like a gentle lover. He was sprawled out on his back, squinting up at the dripping canopy above him. It rained soft and even, amplifying the smells of the jungle around him. The edges of his vision were still dark, and his ears still rang, but at least he was conscious. He twitched and shuddered as the pain receded, unable to move as the rain fell on his face, unable to do anything but grit his teeth. He wasn't sure if he was crying, the rain made it hard to tell. The wind sighed softly, as if the very gods pitied him.  
Florian closed his eyes and continued to lie there, but for minutes or hours he could not say. With great effort he dragged his hand up and he slowly touched his neck, his fingers brushing over the metallic collar around his neck. _So that was what shocked me,_ he thought weakly. The wind sighed again as the rain began to fall harder now, in relentless thick heavy sheets.  
The troll emerged from her home then, looking down at him with a smirk. She slowly stepped over his crippled form, and bent at the waist until they were face-to-face, wearing those damn green goggles, blotting out the rain as she looked down on him. She smiled with genuine amusement, and Florian could see her sharp and white teeth inches from his face. She dangled a small piece of a metal in front of him so that he could see- It was about the size of a thumb, with a red button on the top, and was tied around her wrist with a leather bracelet. She firmly gripped it and brought her thumb down, resting it on top of the button without pressing it, and then acted as if she were being electrocuted, her face contorted in mock pain, and then she laughed in his face. _She's mocking me, _he realized, as venomous anger grew in the pit of his stomach. He would've hit her, then, but he was too weak to move.

She shook her head, grinning around her tusks. She grabbed him by the shirt, dragging him back inside and out of the rain. Florian flushed hot with shame and anger as she dumped him at the foot at the foot of the bed, shut and locked the door behind them and went back to her desk, taking a seat and bending over it again. She went back to mixing different vials, sniffing them and frowning and taking notes, completely ignoring him.

It was another hour before he had full control of his body again. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his legs, trembling with the cold. The huge shirt he wore was drenched through, and-peeking under the shirt- realized he had nothing else on except a pair of cloth underwear. Judging by the size of the red shirt, it was probably hers, thick and made of wool. Looking up and watching her write, he realized that he'd never seen a troll in person—He'd heard descriptions of them, and they were somewhat accurate, but he'd expected the troll to be much larger and barbaric than she was. Looking around the room at the carefully organized vials and books, he realized he was wrong. He climbed to his feet and padded barefoot across the room to the fireplace. The troll's ears twitched, listening, but other than that she did nothing. Staring into the fire, he began to quiver uncontrollably._ Great, I have a bloody cold too.._ He bit his lip and turned to face the troll.  
He watched her working for a while, studying her facial features. Beneath her emerald-green goggles she had a long, thin face topped with a sharp widow's peak and thick violet eyebrows. Her wild hair fell down to her lower back, thick and braided and wine colored, all tied back in a ponytail with a thick bronze ring. Her mouth seemed almost too wide for her face-She had long, full lips that pursed together as she worked, with white tusks as long as his index finger at each end of her mouth. Her nose was long and pointed, her ears the same. She seemed to be young for her race, no more than ten years his senior, and was obviously some type of scientist or tinkerer. He could see that her skin was azure and smooth, her movements careful and deliberate as she mixed vials.  
His eyes fell to her body. She wore a white buccaneer's shirt and form-fitting brown leggings, dressed more like a man than a woman. Her face matched her body, long and thin and lanky. She had little to no muscle or fat on her body, and she was small of breast and waist, but she was as tall as a spear. She sat with her knees drawn up against her chest and both of her feet in the chair, and Florian could see that she was barefoot, with only two large toes on each foot and like all trolls. She was completely unarmed, and completely at ease. _I can't kill her, and she knows that. _Somehow that made him feel even worse, even more insignificant.

Florian listened to the rain falling outside for a time, and then wobbled shakily to his bed. He sat in it and wrapped the sheets around himself, staring at the fireplace now, trying to think of a way back home. He'd rather be on the farm than in here. _At least I had Everett._ He sneezed, and then wiped his nose with a sleeve. _How can I think of a way home when I don't even know where I am? I could run while she sleeps,_ he realized, _but I'll probably be mauled in that jungle if starvation doesn't get me first. _He turned and glanced at the great sleeping beast near her, its body expanding and shrinking slowly as it slept. _Or her beast doesn't catch me,_ he added.

He sneezed again.

The troll turned, her feet still up in the chair, and regarded him coolly from behind her goggles. She lifted them off her eyes and rested them on her forehead. She had large eyes, soft and deep-set and hazel, that shone with intelligence and watched him like a hawk. Florian was taken aback as he realized that she almost had a primitive beauty. She stared at him from her desk, her eyes piercing.

She sighed, and said something in thick orcish. When his face screwed up in confusion, she paused, and said, _"_You did not catch a cold, did you_?"  
_Florian sat there with his mouth wide open, then shut it, then opened it, then shut it again. Gingerly, he replied, "You speak Common?"  
She frowned, thinking, then said slowly, "Yes, a little_." _

Her Common was difficult to understand, her words thick and slow and clumsy, but he could comprehend what she was trying to say. There were lapses mid sentence as she struggled to translate. "Ala'na…study humans for long time, Ala'na try to understand…gooder._" _She frowned again, trying to find the words,"Ala'na…am…scientist_," _She elaborated when he looked motioned towards the wooden chest positioned at the base of his bed, then grunted, "Clothing is in…chest. Do not sick again, already waste time_. _You sleep for many moons_,_ Ala'na thought fever may…kill you, your pulse was weak."

He blinked, realizing that although he had a cold, the fever he had on the farm had broken. He blurted, "How long was I out_?"  
S_hrugging offhandedly, she said "A week, Ala'na thinks. Maybe ten days. Get dressed_,"_ She pointed at the chest again. His eyes flickered to the chest and back to the troll, narrowing. She said, "You do not need to be suspicious, human_. _If Ala'na want to kill you, Ala'na would have done it already_."  
_He untangled himself from the bedsheets and opened the chest. Inside were a dozen oversized shirts and two pairs of women's underwear. He looked back at her, exclaiming "What about pants_?"_

A deep sound came from her throat, half growl and half bark, and Florian realized she was laughing. She said slowly," Ala'na…barely have pants for…Ala'na. None left, none fit you. You are small, Ala'na is big." She paused, and then said,_ "_Those clothes, Ala'nas old clothes. Ala'na do not want anymore."  
He looked at the smiling troll, and down at the scraps of clothing. Suddenly he couldn't stand to be here. As the shock of their sudden communication receded, anger took its place, leaping from Florian's stomach to his throat, his face flushing red in rage. He exclaimed, "You stole me! What's wrong with you? And you electrocuted me_!"_

Her mouth became a thin line. She calmly stated, _"_You were a slave, idiot boy. Ala'na did you a favor by freeing you_."_

Pointing at the metallic collar around his neck, he yelled, "You did me no favor, she-devil, and you did not free me! I am still a slave!_"_

She shook her head, her locks swirling behind her. "No, you are not. Not anymore. You are free_. "_

Florian paused, and then said cautiously, "I am free to leave, then_?"_

She shook her head again, saying, "No. You are Ala'nas pet until Ala'na decide Ala'na no longer want you to be, and then Ala'na will kill you. We are not friends, we are not…allies. You will follow Ala'nas orders, or," She lifted the red-buttoned switch that she held earlier, "Ala'na will…shock you until you do. Now change clothes, human, Ala'na do not want you to catch cold_."_

She stared at him, unflinching, until he angrily ripped off the shirt that he wore, tossing it to the ground. _Pet or slave, it makes no damn difference, _he thought furiously. He grabbed a purple shirt from the chest and slammed it shut, pulling it down over his head. He turned to her, his arms folded across his tiny chest, blowing a lock of black hair out of his eyes and pouting. She nodded with approval as she scratched her chin, saying "Tell Ala'na, do male humans have any use for their nipples?_"_

He looked at her with the utmost hatred.

She turned away and wrote something down, and then turned back, stating calmly,_ "_Oh, do not look at Ala'na like that. Ala'na will figure it out sooner or later, Ala'na always does. Anyways, you will refer to Ala'na as Master Ala'na, or you will be punished. What was your birthname, human?_"_

He hesitated, and then said, _"_Florian. Florian Tyrell_."_

She scratched her nose thoughtfully, and then said "That name is ugly, even for human boy. It is no longer your name. Your name is now Felix."

He shot back, "No, my name is Florian_,"_ as a million volts ripped through his body again.

* * *

Ala'na pulled a hard loaf of bread and a wedge of rich cheddar from the cabinet, setting it on the table. She produced two chipped wooden cups as well, setting them on the table near the bread and cheese. As the rain fell heavily outside, she crossed the room to the fireplace. The skewered rabbit began to blacken over the flame, and she knew it was ready. She removed it from the spit, laying it on the table, and tore it in half with her huge hands. Like clockwork she divided the meat onto two separate plates, and tore off a generous chunk of cheese and bread, laying it next to the charred meat on the plates. Donning a pair of oven mitts, she removed a pot from over the fireplace, pouring a steaming liquid into both of the cups.

Felix was wrapped in his blankets, his green eyes staring at her with disgust and rage as she approached, his arms wrapped around his legs. She brought the plate and drink to him, setting it at the foot of the bed.

Seeing his eyes flicker to the steaming cup and back to her, she stated, "Spiced wine helps Ala'na sleep. You can get water if you want, just make sure you close cabinet behind yourself._"_

He didn't respond, or blink, or anything. The stupid human merely stared. She could tell that the scrawny thing hated her with every inch of his soul, but she didn't care.

She turned and crossed the room back to her desk, taking a seat next to her lazy panther. _If you aren't hunting, you are sleeping, lazy one, _she thought. With one hand she stroked the panther's head, eating bread with the other, watching the rain fall outside her window. She finished the bread and tore into the duck, hot grease dribbling down her chin. Turning, she noticed that the human was refusing to eat, although she could hear his stomach growling from all the way across the room. She watched as reluctantly, cautiously, he reached out and took a small piece of the cheese. He nibbled on it, and then stuffed all of it in his mouth as if he had never eaten before. He hungrily tore apart and ate the bread and duck, too, and then began sipping the heated wine.

Ala'na finished her own dinner, chewing slowly as she thought, listening to the rain falling outside. She flicked open her notebook and began reading up on ways to enhance her common. Although she had a basic grasp of the language, she felt like she wasn't speaking it fluidly or correctly. She licked her fingers as she studied and sipped at the hot wine. After an hour, she stood and pinched out each of the candle wicks until the room was pitch black, the occasional lightning strike illuminating the room. She crossed the room and bent over the bed, pulling back the sheets and climbing in next to her new pet as the panther coiled in a ball, tail-to-nose, at the foot of their bed. Felix faced away from her, dead asleep. He still smelled of sickness. _I will need to wash him tomorrow,_ she noted. She moved closer to him anyway, siphoning his body warmth, putting an arm around him protectively. He shifted in his sleep, but did not wake. _If he is my pet, he should at least feel protected in my arms_, she figured, as she tumbled slowly into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

The night was unseasonably cool, even for autumn. The rain fell in heavy stinging sheets, washing away the filth that stained the city's cobbled streets. _A northern rain, and full of chill. _Everett pulled up his hood to cover his face and hunched his shoulders in the cold. The cold cut through his clothing and armor, straight to the bone. _I must keep looking, _he thought, _just one more tavern and then I'll rest. _He snapped the reins of his horse, eager to be done with the foul capital city. Two days ago a trader had been butchered in these very streets, a harmless man who'd come to Stormwind for fruit and found death instead. He was killed for the handful of gold coins in his pocket, and nothing more.

_Those thugs would find a sterner foe in me. _He almost wished someone would try to rob him, just so he could smash and slash away the helpless frustration that filled him. His hand drifted down to brush over the hilt of the longsword that hung from his hip, half-hidden beneath the heavy black robes and cloak he wore. The Stormwind insignia was stitched over his heart, but other than that the robes were plain and unnoticeable, exactly as he'd wanted. And besides, the robe hid the iron chainmail vest he wore underneath. Wearing armor openly in Stormwind was a good invitation to unwelcome attention; typically a man wearing armor was either a city guard or he thought he was tough, and when people thought you were tough, they wanted to show you that you weren't.

The moon was hidden behind the clouds this night, and almost everyone had fled indoors from the rain. Still, the occasional man and woman walked the street carrying goods, staring at him and his sword with fearful eyes. Everett quickly learned that in Stormwind, the merchants tried to cheat you at every turn, and sometimes the bartenders would spit in your drink if you looked at them the wrong way.

Everett heard faint music and laughter drifting from the tavern door before he could see it. No sign marked The Kings Barrel, but he could smell the stink of ale and sweat and shit from where he sat. _This is the place._ He dismounted heavily, his knee-high boots sinking into the mud. He tied his horse to the wooden post near the door, then gave the beast a reassuring pat and turned away. Janos had been a wealthy man if nothing else, and he'd left plenty of silver behind after his death. Before burning the farm to the ground, Everett had found the stash of coins hidden under the slaver's bed. He brought everything he wore with those coins, as well as the horse. As he stepped to the wooden doors, he began to wonder if his armor or his wet cloak were heavier.

He shouldered through the door. Worn stairs led down to another door. He descended and pushed open the door slowly. The cellar was dim and the ceiling low, and Everett thumped his head on a ceiling beam as he entered. There were no kings in attendance at The Kings Barrel, but plenty of barrels; they lined the walls of the tavern, old and wooden and stained with wine. A few stools were scattered about, and a bench had been shoved up against one wall. The tables were rickety and unstable. The stink of alcohol and damp and mildew overpowered everything.

The only drinkers were two women on the bench, frowning at each other over a game of chess, and a thin fair-skinned man sitting cross legged in a dark corner and strumming a harp, singing softly. They glanced up at him as he walked in. The harp player began to softly strum a beautiful and slow song, "The Rains of Stranglethorn", to accompany the weather. The women looked at him inquiringly until Everett shook his head. The whore whispered something behind her hand that made the other woman laugh. The bartender stood behind a plank that had been placed across two barrels. She was a woman, round and pale and balding, with huge soft breasts swaying beneath a stained shirt. She looked like she was made out of uncooked dough.

Everett knew that drinking the water here would be the stupidest thing he'd ever done. "A cup of wine, please." The woman eyed Everett's longsword as it poked from between the folds of his robe. He pulled out four coppers and set them on the plank between them. The woman suspiciously grabbed the coins and disappeared into the back of the tavern. She returned a moment later and handed him a chipped wooden cup filled with wine so dark it was almost brown. There was a hair floating in it.

Everett pulled back his hood. "I'm looking for someone, too. Have you seen a black haired boy, small and skinny and pale? He is a mute. He is possibly traveling with a female troll." She shook her head and shifted uncomfortably.

"If you're going to cut someone, do it somewhere else," said the innkeep. "We don't want no trouble here."

"He is my brother. I am trying to find him. I would be thankful if you could tell me if you've heard anything."

"How thankful would you be, exactly?"

Everett thumbed through his rapidly thinning purse and pulled out a silver coin, placing it on the plank as well. The woman smiled and picked it up, biting it and shoving it into her pocket. "Yes, might be I heard something. The young bard here came in a couple nights ago, supposedly he came upon a hut in the forests of Northshire while out for a walk. Twas' a troll living there, he said, so he ran off and left her be like the coward he is. No one believed him, though, even the city guard themselves. Not sure if the troll was a woman or not."

His heart sped up as he heard the answer. He looked the bard over as if seeing him for the first time. He was dark-skinned and young, and could be mistaken for a woman from afar. His black hair was thin and braided, tied back in a loose ponytail behind him. He wore spectacles, sandals, and a foreign kimono, softly strumming the harp. _Northshire is only three days north of Westfall, and two days of north of here. _Everett had thought she'd gone farther east out of human territory, but apparently not. He wondered if the troll was that stupid. And yet, something about how the troll fought him spoke of her intelligence. "Thank you," he blurted suddenly. He turned to approach the harpist.

"Would you like a room, ser?" He could hear the desperation in her voice; apparently the woman really needed customers. A quiet room and a featherbed was just what he needed right now; he longed to rest his aching feet and warm his bones, and he hadn't bathed in almost three days. "No," he said instead. _Somewhere out there, my brother needs me. _Florian had always been needy, especially since their mother had passed. _Not since she passed, since she was murdered by Janos,_ he thought. It all seemed like it was a thousand years ago.

"You could at least stay until the rain slacks up, m'lord. We got half as many rats as most taverns, and only two pleasure women, but you can sleep here safely and we have decent meat pies. They're good," she promised.

"They're shit, woman," said one of the whores, "tell him true. Unless you like burnt pies filled with gray mystery meat."

The innkeep frowned and pointed a spoon at her. "You eat them all the time, Shae. They ain't shit."

"They is shit. And I only eat them because I ain't got no choice." The other whore laughed.

Everett's stomach growled loud enough for the innkeep to hear. The harpist began to play 'Gray Weather' as Everett dug out another five coppers, then stopped and switched to 'Cold Rain, Cold Woman'. He placed them on the plank and turned back towards the door, pulling off his rain-soaked cloak and hanging it on a nail near the door. He decided to talk to the harpist later.

"I'll take the room, but no food. Do you have a stable? My mount is out front."

The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Ser Stableboy!" Six heartbeats later a young boy ran from the back of the tavern and past them, nodding politely before disappearing out the door.

Everett had to smile. "Ser Stableboy?""

"Aye. A sailor came in here and called him that once, and we've taken to calling him that ever since. Its sad, because the boy really does dream of being a knight. It's the third door on the right, if you need anything let me know. Ill send up the bathwater after its done boiling."

Everett turned away, peeling off his dripping wet gloves as he made his way to the stairway. The harpist began to play 'Rain Drenched Lover', his soft voice filling the room as he spoke the verses. He passed the smirking whores again, and began to climb the stairs. He tried the wine, and it was thick and oily on his tongue. He poured it at his feet as he climbed the stairs. _It's sad, because the boy really does dream of being a knight, _her words echoed in his head. And what boy doesn't? He'd had the same dream once, when he was younger. His parents managed to pay enough for him to be a squire, but it was only for a little while. He was squire to a fat knight named Ser Mandon Oakheart. He was more a servant for Ser Mandon than his squire, changing the shoes on his warhorse and hammering out the dents of his breastplate and polishing his steel boots. And yet, the knight had managed to teach him the basics of swordplay and valor before he'd died of a bad belly. When he died, so did Everett's dreams of becoming a knight. _But that was so very long ago. Before the farm, before Janos. _

He crossed one room and heard snoring from behind the door. He passed the second door and heard a woman moaning loudly inside, with a man grunting as well. He came to the third door and pushed his way in. The room was no better or worse than he expected, small and comfortable with one window and a fireplace. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that the fireplace had elegant women carved along it, making love to each other. The work was exceptional, and arousing. Everett felt a blush creep up his neck, and ignored it. He began to undress, pulling off his robe and armor and untying his riding boots. He pulled his shirt off over his head, and stood in front of the fireplace, warming his hands.

The door closed behind him softly, ever so softly.

He'd left his longsword with his armor near the bed, but he still had his knife on his hip. Everett yanked it out and spun to find a woman standing there. It was the woman from earlier, the one the bartender called Shae. "You shouldn't scare me like that. I almost killed you," he said as he sheathed his knife. "What are you doing in my room? Get out, I don't have any money."

The woman had oil-black skin, willowy and skinny. She had small breasts and smaller hips, with large coal-black eyes set in a heart shaped face. Her hair was long and braided and black as night, and she was only wearing a light gown. She was barefoot and smiling, and no older than twenty. Her teeth were pearl white. _Beautiful_, he thought unwillingly.

"I came with the room, m'lord, you've already paid for me." She said with a thick accent. Somehow her accent made her all the more desirable.

"What accent is that?" he asked.

"It's foreign."

"Oh, foreign. I see." He immediately realized that he was made a fool of. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but couldn't come up with a witty reply to her sarcasm. He suddenly felt very naked, although he still wore his iron-studded leggings.

"Would you like company? It is a very cold and rainy night, and nothing is colder than an empty bed. Unless you'd prefer the stableboy instead, I'm sure he's not busy."

He could feel the flush creeping up his neck again. "No, I'm not—no. I'm not like that." She crossed the room with catlike grace, circling around him slowly as she spoke. He turned back and began warming his hands again. She came up behind him, resting her hands on his neck and massaging it gently. He stiffened at her touch, as it was unwelcome. He wanted to say 'no', but the words never left his mouth. Instead, the fingers began to deftly knead away the dull aching pain in his shoulders. He closed his eyes. No one had ever touched him with the intent of pleasing him, in his whole life. It felt so…so…

"No," he said. He turned and pushed her gently away, but firmly. "I have to leave soon. I'm not planning on staying here long. I'm only here until the rain lets up."

"She came close, almost until they were nose to nose. He could smell her breath, sweet with wine and cinnamon and mint. She pressed her body against his and put her hands on either side of his face. "You're handsome, you know. Are you a knight, m'lord? You have the face of one."

"No, I'm no knight, and I'm not a lord either." He meant to grab her waist and push her away, but instead his hands rested there. She was beautiful, without a doubt, with flawless olive skin, but…

"We don't need to do anything, if you don't like. I could just lay with you, if you'd please. Or I can rub your back more. You'll be pleased to know that I'm a great masseuse." She looked him in the eyes. She was so close. She chuckled gently, and said "You want me. I can see it in your eyes, m'lord." She leaned in and kissed his neck, under the chin, and he closed his eyes again. Once, twice, three times, like little warm butterfly kisses. He craned his neck and let her kiss him.

_No,_ he meant to tell her, but he seemed to lose the power of speech. She stepped back suddenly and undid the gown, dropping it in a puddle around her naked ankles. Everett stood silently, drinking in the beauty of her body, the hollow of her throat, the soft curve of her shoulders, her round budding breasts with small black nipples, the soft curve of her waist and hip. He pressed herself against him again, and began kissing him along his jawline. His hands found the small of her back, pulling her closer. The skin was soft beneath his fingers, as warm as sand baked in the sun. He realized that he was moaning. Her hair was black and thick and smelled of orchids, a dark and earthy and natural smell that made him so hard it hurt. She raised her head and kissed him in the mouth. She tasted like wine and heat.

"My knight," she said between kisses, "My sweet knight, you taste like fruit and flowers." He opened his mouth under hers, powerless. _If it is wrong, why does it feel so good? _Her hand slipped down his navel and into his pants. He found himself moaning twice as loud. He didn't remember crossing the room, or falling in bed, but suddenly they were there. His pants were gone, long forgotten. Her hands guided him inside of her, and then slipped around his back to pull him deeper. "Yes, there, oh yes, my knight, my sweet knight of flowers." She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper. He kissed her, now, with a deep hunger, and the sound of squishing filled his ears. Suddenly her back arched and she screamed. Everett ground his teeth and spent all of his seed in her, eighteen years worth. _I could die now, happy,_ Everett thought. And for a good ten minutes he was at peace.

He did not die.

He rolled off of her to sit on the edge of the bed. He could hear the harpist softly playing "Sir Lancel the Lusty" downstairs.

"There is wine," she said. "Are you thirsty?"

"No."

"Is that your favorite word, 'No'? I have heard it a lot from you." Her fingers gently touched his back. He flinched. "You bleed," she said. "I scratched too hard." Had she scratched him? He couldn't remember. Regret and shame and guilt began to flood him. _Do I have no morals, no honor? What would father do if he could see me now, sleeping with some whore while my brother is probably dying? _

"Don't." He stood, naked. "No more."

"I have balm, m'lord, for the scratches, if you need it."

_You may have balm for my scratches, but none for my shame._


	4. Chapter 4

_D__ay twelve. The human sleeps sixteen hours a day since he has woken from his fever induced coma. I am not sure if this much rest is regular for humans, but I suspect deep-rooted and severe depression—_Frowning, Ala'na felt a pang of regret as her pen scribbled that sentence, but she brushed the feeling aside. Dipping her quill in ink, she continued: _ He has no urge to eat or wash himself, and is mostly bedridden. The only time that he leaves bed is to urinate. He shows no interest in any of my library either, even the books written in his language. _She paused, wondering if he even knew how to read. _He is very susceptible to injury and illness, and he still has not recovered completely from his fever... However, something odd has happened—Felix and Alzira, my companion, have formed some type of bond._

Looking over her shoulder, she saw the sickly boy scratching the panther's belly with a rare smile as she lay on her back. She purred pleasantly, enjoying herself, looking up at him with those red eyes and pawing lightly at the air.

_I will continue to monitor his actions._

Felix yelled,_ "DO YOU HAVE TO WATCH ME DO EVERYTHING?"_

Ala'na followed him into the jungle and watched him piss. She watched him eat after she fed him, she watched him sleep in her bed, and she watched him doing absolutely nothing, all the while fervently taking notes. The human fascinated her, and every time he did anything, she wrote it down. Now she wanted to watch him wash in the nearby river.

"Yes, I do_", _she said back. Her common had gotten a little better in the last couple days, practicing with the human boy by the light of the fireplace. She sat on a rock protruding from the rushing river, her legs crossed, notepad balanced on her lap, pen in hand. Today she wore a green sleeveless shirt and brown leather leggings cut off at the knee, clasped with a thick studded belt. Her goggles were left at home. Around her neck she wore a thin black necklace with various types of teeth dangling from it. A quiver and longbow were hooked on her back, her stolen longsword at her hip. The tip of the sheath dipped into the swirling waters below her. It was noon, and the sun shone through the gaps of the canopy.

"That's not fair, you pervert_,_" Felix shouted from the riverbank ten feet away, "_I _don't watch you shower or urinate. Give me some privacy_." _ She chuckled silently, replying, "Yes, but I am not your pet. You are mine. It is for the sake of science, human. Go on, or I will make you_,"_ she warned. She watched as he grudgingly pulled off his shirt and hurled it down, his tiny arms wrapping around himself protectively as he shivered. He started to edge into the water, until she said "And those, too_," _pointing at his underwear with her pencil.

Felix looked down at his body, then back up at her. She smiled devilishly, her brown eyes dancing with amusement. He calmly said, "No, you fucking pervert_._"

Ala'na electrocuted him for a full ten seconds, yawning as she did so. Alzira swaggered out of the bushes a stones throw away from Felix, carrying the mangled corpse of a duck between her bloody teeth. She began devouring it, right there on the riverbank, watching the boy twitch near her as she ate.

An orange orangutan swung from branch to branch above them, stopping to stare at the boy and his convulsing. He hung there, one hand wrapped around the branch and the other picking his nose, hooting with excitement.

When he finally recovered, Felix stood up on wobbly legs and hurriedly dropped his underwear. He worked his way slowly into the ice-cold river, shivering, carrying a bar of soap. Wading in waist deep, he began to clean himself, slowly at first, then faster as he grew at ease. Ala'na could see the dirt floating downriver. He rubbed the soap against his head and cupped his hands in the river, dumping the water on his scalp.

She saw for the first time how truly underweight he was, the outline of his ribs visible through his goose-bump ridden skin. He was slender, but not like herself-Where she was lean and corded with muscle, he was flat and skinny, with a bony waist only slightly smaller than his shoulders and a soft concave belly. His hair almost reached his shoulders now, thick and black and unruly. He had a long a thin face, like her own, and his skin was as alarmingly pale as when he'd first seen him, even after two weeks in the forests of Northshire. _He's shaped more like a breastless girl than a boy, she_ thought. Looking down at her own boyish body, Ala'na's mood was instantly darkened.

The woods rang with booming laughter.

Ala'na lurched to her feet, snatching the longbow from her back in a flash. There were three, she saw, standing on the riverbank behind her. They were afoot, travel-stained and mud-specked. The one laughing was a large green orc with a giant belly and a great black beard. He was no older than fifty, with a big mouth that ended in tusks like her own, a sharp nose, and arms as thick as tree trunks. His armor was a vest of black steel scales, his leggings studded with bits of iron, with heavy iron boots and gauntlets on his hands and feet. A black cap topped his head and rested on his pointed ears, and in an armored fist he clutched a thin sword, long and curved like a scythe.

The troll who stood beside him was a good foot shorter and many years older, wearing a long blue robe and sandals, with blue-green skin. One of his eyes were dead, the pupil white and crossed with a scar, the other pupil black and staring. He was thin and crooked, with long stringy gray hair, and he wielded a small dagger. A brace of throwing knives were wrapped around his thin hips.

The last of the three was another orc, a woman short and curvy. The steel spear she clutched had a red scrap of cloth tied to it, flapping in the wind, the butt of it planted firmly in the ground. Rows of overlapping steel rings were sewn into her shirt, and her head was covered by a plumed halfhelm shaped like a cone. She wore fingerless leather gloves and high boots. A bang of black hair covered one eye, the other eye black and unblinking like a hawk. Dark green freckles dotted her cheeks.

"What's this, then?" The big orc boomed, "Caught yourself a human, have you?" Ala'na breathed a sigh of relief, lowering her bow at the sight of fellow Horde members. She smiled and said in Orcish, "What are you all doing way out here in Northshire? I thought I was the only Horde stupid enough to be in human territory." Felix stepped out of the river and onto the bank opposite them, shivering, staring at the newcomers.

The woman watched her with one black eye and said, "We're just, you know, traveling."

"_Heh._ Traveling. _"_The big orc shifted his heavy weight to his other foot. "Patrolling for Alliance." He pointed with his curved sword at Felix. "Looks like we got one right here."

"He is under my protection," Ala'na blurted immediately, her fist tightening the longbow, "He is my pet." The man laughed again.

He said in thick, deep voice, "Trying to tame a human, eh, huntress?" Ala'na smiled and nodded eagerly, and he could understand that. The orc took a step into the river and began wading through it towards her while the other two stood behind. Ala'na said hurriedly, "What are you doing?"

The orc neared the rock she stood on. "Oh, just seeing that pretty face up close."

_They aren't loyal to the Horde._ Her eyes narrowed as she eyed their weapons and their mud stained clothing. _Outlaws—_the blade flashed out suddenly, and Ala'na had time to leap back, but the tip slashed her across the abdomen as she crashed into the river. The current sent her tumbling downstream as she struggled to plant her feet beneath her, water rushing in her mouth and nose, and suddenly she wasn't sure which way was up and which was down. A stream of bubbles erupted from her nostrils and mouth as she screamed underwater. She kicked wildly, trying to right herself, trying to grab at the river floor, but her fingers just grasped chunks of dirt. She swirled and spun downriver. Her hand clasped an underwater rock as she flew by, and she pulled herself up and out of the water, gasping for air.

She took a deep breath to quiet her panic and surveyed around her. The troll was making his way though the river to Felix, knife in hand. The boy didn't see him, instead staring at Ala'na and waving his hands from the riverbank. The orc woman watched Ala'na from the opposite riverbank, leaning on her spear with a bored expression. Alzira was nowhere to be seen. Somehow she'd managed to keep a hold of her bow while underwater. She shrugged the longbow around a shoulder, wiping the water out of her eyes with the back of a hand and drawing her own steel. Her knuckles went white as she clutched the grip of the longsword. The big orc was almost on her again. Her free hand went down to her stomach and came away bloody.

She shouted at him, "I have twenty silver coins if you'll leave us be!" The big orc grinned as he approached, stating "We'll be taking that, for a start. Give me the sword, girl, before ya get hurt more."

_Oh, I will, _she thought. She had been trained as an outrider of the Horde in her younger days, and let her training take over. She charged the surprised orc, and the blade came alive in her hands, her instinct taking over. He leapt back in the river, parrying her first swing, but she followed, pressing the attack. As soon as he turned one cut another was coming. The swords kissed and sprang apart and kissed again. High, low, overhand, she rained down steel on him. Left, right, backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew. Upswing, sideslash, over-hand, always attacking, moving into him, step and duck and thrust, strike and step, step and strike, hacking, slashing, faster and faster.

She stopped her attack, breathless, letting the point of her sword dip into the rushing water. "Not half bad," he acknowledged, "for a wench."

She took a low deep breath, her eyes watching him warily as they circled each other, waist-deep in the river. He came forward this time, spinning as he swung, a whirlwind of steel. He feigned left and then came right, and she blocked, and he kicked her square in the chest. He drove her downstream and away from Felix, drove her out of the river and up the bank and into the trees. She stumbled on a root she never saw, but she fell to one knee instead of falling, and never lost a beat. Her sword leapt up to block a downcut that would have opened her from shoulder to hip, and then she swung at him again and again, fighting her way back to her feet stroke by stroke.

The dance went on. He pinned her back against an oak, cursing as she slipped away; He followed her through the trees and back to the river. Steel rang and sang, steel screamed and sparked and scraped. She swung low and then high, and the blade found its mark, biting through mail and slashing him from nipple to nipple. A red flower blossomed where she cut him through his armor. He laughed a ragged, breathless laugh, backing up. She swung at him again, but his block was a second too late, and the longsword's tip scraped across his brow, making blood ran down into his right eye. He backed to the riverbed again, desperate to catch his breath.

Ala'na's shoulder was going numb from the jarring of the blades when she blocked, and her wrist ached with the weight of the sword. Her sword grew heavier and heavier with every swing, but she pressed the attack, swinging high and low and high again. She saw her opening and slammed the orc with a knee to the groin, sending him stumbling into the river. A slick stone turned under the orc's feet as he stumbled, and he fell backwards into the water_._ She splashed over him and stomped down on his right hand, _hard_. His hand crunched and broke as he let go of his sword, the blade floating downriver in the current.

She kneeled and forced his head underwater with her free hand. He yanked a knife free from his belt, but Ala'na saw it, and her sword flashed down almost too fast to see, hacking off his left hand. He tried to buck her off of him as his left hand drifted downstream, but she kept his face pressed under the swirling waters. His broken right hand reached up, the crooked fingers spreading across her face, grabbing, and then it fell away as he drowned beneath the bloody water.

Lurching to her feet, she turned to look upriver. The orc woman crouched behind her spear as Alzira circled her slowly, both of them waiting for the other to make the first move. The troll had a naked Felix by the wrist, raising his dagger. Felix kicked the old troll in the knee and scrambled to his feet, but the outlaw leapt on Felix's back, grabbing a fistful of hair and pulling his head back to bare his throat. "Stop squealing, you," he grunted in thick Trollish.

In one smooth motion, Ala'na sheathed her sword and snatched the bow from her back. Reaching into her quiver, her fingers found an arrow, dripping wet. Without thinking, she nocked it and pulled the arrow back to her ear. Two heartbeats later she loosed it, and the arrow sailed through the air, plunging into the troll's liver. He fell off the stunned Felix, clutching at his side, as another arrow slammed into his eye socket. Felix turned his head away from the corpse and vomited into the river.

She twisted and loosed another arrow at the orc woman still circling her panther. It bounced uselessly off her helmet as her head snapped back, but distracted her long enough for the panther to leap over the spearhead and unto her. The beast pinned her to the ground, but still the woman held the spear, holding it sideways between her face and the snapping jaws of the albino panther. Ala'na splashed through the water to them, yanking her bloody sword free again.

The woman managed to get a foot between her and the panther, kicking it off, and she was on her feet in a flash. She leveled the spear and thrust before the panther could regain her footing, the spearhead flashing out twice. Alzira ducked under the first thrust, the second catching her in the shoulder. The panther roared in pain, leaping back out the reach of the spear.

Ala'na drove her shoulders into the back of the woman's legs, bringing the orc down on top of her with a _crash_. They rolled and wrestled, kicking and punching, until Ala'na was sitting astride her. Ala'na gripped the rim of the helmet and yanked it off her head. Snarling, the orc woman under her slammed Ala'na in the eye, and the world flashed and lurched, but she managed to stay on top of her. Ala'na smashed her in the teeth with a fist, then grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the rocks of the riverbed. The woman gritted her teeth as blood began to dribble down her forehead. Ala'na slammed her head again, and her eyes rolled as she began to lose consciousness.

She spat, "Okay, I yield, _I yield_!" and Ala'na stopped and stood, her face flushed and sweating. The armored woman rolled over on all fours, coughing roughly and spitting up blood and teeth. Realizing that she had dropped her blood-stained sword, Ala'na snatched it up and sheathed it. She snatched up the spear, too, and broke it over her knee with an explosion of splinters_, _tossing it into the river.

She realized that Felix and Alzira were at her side. The panther licked away the blood leaking from the wound on her shoulder, and Felix shivered under his clothing. The orc woman's ragged breathing was the only sound they could hear.

Felix said, shakily, "This wouldn't have happened if you weren't a pervert."


	5. Chapter 5

_D__ay fourteen, _the pen scribbled;_ Two days ago Alzira and I stumbled upon a small band of Horde outlaws while Felix bathed. They were seeking to take us and our silver, apparently. However, they were only three, and I was armed, so Alzira and I dispatched them quickly. _Ala'na paused to sneeze.

"Bless you," a voice said. She glanced up to see the orc woman shouldering through the front door, arms wrapped around a cluster of firewood, electric collar around her green neck. She was wearing a sleeveless leather vest and shorts, her armor stripped from her long ago. Felix was not far behind, with his own tiny bundle of wood, kicking the door shut behind him after he entered. They crossed the room behind her and began stacking the wood next to the fireplace.

_And,_ she wrote, _I have tamed another new pet. An orc one, named Jonquil. I am not sure if the Horde would take kindly to me making an orc my guinea pig, but I've decided to risk it. She did try to kill me, after all. Still, she is as different from Felix as day and night. She is fiery where Felix is meek, aggressive where the human is passive. I suppose it is her nature as an Orc._

_Felix, however, is beginning to be more open and willing with the process. His appetite has returned somewhat. He has finally taken to reading, too, and every day we practice my Common. I am beginning to understand the human body much better, and soon my research will be concluded._

_I will have to watch both the human and the orc carefully, lest they seek to kill me in my sleep. _Her hand fell to scratch Alzira behind the ears, as she slept at her feet under the table. The panther purred in her sleep. _In Alzira, though, I think I have the perfect guardian._

The arrow vanished into the greenery. Jonquil laughed so hard that she snorted, wrapping her arms around her sides.

_We'll never find that one, no sense in trying, _Ala'na thought. Her free hand fell on Felix's, who held the longbow. The boy's face was flushed with shame. "The wind took that one," she said. "Try to hold the bow steady, Felix."

"Its heavy," he complained. He pulled a second arrow from the quiver tied to his back. It was the quiver that Ala'na usually wore on her hip, but it dragged along the ground when he wore it on his. He squinted at the target sixty yards away. He nocked the arrow, pulled, and loosed. This one went high, sailing into the branches twenty feet above the target.

"I think you knocked a leaf off that tree," snorted Jonquil behind them, "Autumn is coming fast enough, you don't need to help it none."

Ala'na sighed, half tempted to electrocute the shit out of her. Instead, she said "Shoot the next one, Felix."

He lowered the bow, and Ala'na thought he was going to start crying again. The boy's eyes were always red and rheumy and brimming with tears, it seemed. "It's too hard_,_" he complained, but he pulled out a third arrow all the same. He notched, drew, and released, all while frowning. The arrow struck the outermost layer of the target and hung quivering.

"I hit him," he exclaimed, his face lighting up, "Jonquil, did you see? I hit him!" He smiled for the first time since she captured him.

Jonquil stepped forward. "You hit the target, that's all. Let's see how you shoot when a bear is rushing at you. It'll come right at you, roaring in your face, and I bet you'll piss those little panties. It will rend your eyes out, and the last thing you'll see will be a claw flashing at you."

The boy was shaking. She snatched the bow from Felix and spat.

"Boy, you're as useless as nipples on a breastplate, I swear." Jonquil pulled an arrow from Felix's quiver and loosed it, and it landed two rings from the center. She tucked a bang of black hair behind her ear, smiling wickedly. "Best that, troll." She tossed the longbow to Ala'na.

She snatched it out of the air one-handed and pulled an arrow from the quiver. She frowned down the length of the shaft as she pulled the arrow back to her ear. She gritted her teeth and stood still, taut as the bow she held, then let fly. The shaft struck dead center in the target, two inches inside of Jonquil's. She stepped back, beaming with a rare smile.

"The crosswind helped you," Jonquil said stubbornly. "It blew more strongly when I loosed."

"Then you should have compensated for it," Ala'na shot back at her. "You have a good eye and a steady hand, but you'll need much more to best a huntress of the Horde."

She snorted at that, and spat. "So you can shoot an arrow? Big deal. I once wrestled a dragon with my bare hands, I did. Tied his neck in a knot so that every time he breathed fire he roasted his own arse."

Ala'na had to smile at that.

The ground crunched under them with every step, the forest a mixture of muddy browns and bushy greens. The trees stood around them like a thousand gnarled spears, the thickly woven canopy high above them. They could hear the rain falling lightly above them, but they didn't feel a drop.

Ala'na's mount pushed his way through the brush with his nose- She had to tug on the reins constantly to stop the raptor from surging forward. The cold-blooded beast was as restless as always; it longed to run freely and at top speed, to tear through the forest as a jade colored blur.

_For a reptile, he seems very hot-blooded,_ Ala'na thought as she ducked under a low branch and straightened. She could hear Jonquil close behind her, jogging with a brisk pace. The woman was tireless, trotting for miles on end without stopping. Felix trailed far behind her, his face red and puffing with exhaustion as he struggled to keep up. The boy carried the longbow and quiver in his arms. His foot snagged on a root. He and the longbow went flying, him landing heavily on his face. The longbow disappeared into the bushes.

Ala'na pulled on the reins, hard, and the raptor stopped with a shrill shriek. It shifted restlessly while Ala'na waited for Felix to climb to his feet. He didn't. Jonquil stepped back to him and tried to shake him, but he didn't move. She lifted his wrist and watched it fall again.

"He's out cold," Jonquil said with a snigger.

"Carry him, then," Ala'na spat. The smirk dissolved from the orc's face. "No," she said, before she was shocked. She collapsed to the ground bonelessly.

She recovered faster than Felix did when electrocuted, Ala'na noticed. The orc stood and frowned grimly as she bundled up the boy and hurled him over a shoulder like a sack of oats. She found the quiver and longbow, clutching them both with one hand. Ala'na snapped the reins and they continued.

Northshire could not have been more different than Durotar, with its mountains and rocks, scorpions and cacti, yet this place had its own beauty, Ala'na thought. They crossed a dozen fast-flowing streams alive with frogs and crickets and salmon, ducked under a hanging vine, and passed a bear scratching its arse. They worked their way around Northshire Abbey, careful to avoid detection of the humans there. Ala'na knew the land like the back of her hand; she knew the hedges and the hills, the streams where she could drink and the caves where she could shelter. She should know, she'd traveled through the forest a hundred times over. Suddenly she wondered how well she knew her company.

"Jonquil?" She blurted.

"What?" She answered, behind her.

"How did you become an outlaw? I mean, how did you end up with those men I killed?"

"I was a deserter, actually, and became an outlaw."

Ala'na blinked. "Isn't a deserter and an outlaw the same thing?"

"No, not really. There are many types of outlaws, just like there are many types of birds. An eagle and a pigeon both have wings, but they are not the same. The singers love to sing of good men and women forced to go outside the law to fight some wicked evil, but most of the time it isn't anything like that. Outlaws are men and women driven by hunger and malice, where a deserter is a little different."

They crossed a stone bridge, covered with moss, as she continued her explanation. "Most deserters are common born, who've never been outside of Durotar. They hear the songs and stories about the glory of the horde, and they march off with eager hearts, dreaming of the wonders they will see. Then they get their first taste of battle, and see their friends and family die. Sooner or later they break, and run away from the battle. All thoughts of home and glory are long gone by then, and the man has nothing to do and nothing to live for except himself. A deserter lives day to day, meal to meal, more beast than man. So yes, deserters and outlaws are the same, more or less, although deserters are much more deserving of pity than a simple outlaw." Silence stretched on and on as they rode.

As they came into the clearing, Ala'na suddenly stopped. Jonquil bumped into her raptor, and frowned.

"Hey, what's the big deal? Let's go…" Her voice trailed off as she saw what Ala'na was staring at.

Their home was no more than a pile of ash and cinder.


	6. Chapter 6

The harpist took very little convincing. "Four gold if we find the troll, six if it's who I'm looking for, eight if we find my brother," said Everett in the gloom of the tavern.

The harpist adjusted his spectacles from across the table, and then interlaced his fingers under his chin with a pearl-white smirk. "How do I know you're good for it, ser?"

Everett tapped a finger on the pommel of his longsword, half concealed under his robes. "It's your choice. Gold when we find him, or steel now." He crossed his broad arms and sat back in the rickety chair, waiting for the harpist's answer, as the man tittered nervously. He adjusted his glasses again, and reluctantly nodded.

The harpist was short and thin, a feminine and scrawny young man no older then twenty-two, Everett guessed. He had fair brown skin and coal-black hair, the same as Shae; Everett took them to be brother and sister, as they had nearly the same build and face, but where Shae's hair was straight and braided and waist-long, the harpists' was an artful tumble of short and curly black locks, coming down to his shoulders. His thin spectacles were half-invisible unless the light glinted off of them the right way.

"Fine," he said, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief behind his glasses, "but a friend of mine will be joining our company. He's very skilled at tracking, and I think he could help us find your boy."

Everett pinched the space between his eyes, frowning. "Where is this friend of yours?"

It was another hour before the knight arrived, swaggering into the room with a broad smile. He looked more like a huntsman than a knight, with dark leather breeches, brown knee-high boots and elbow-long gloves, and a black hunting vest over black chainmail, as well as a quiver full of arrows across his back. A longsword hung from his left side, a knife from his right. He seemed slightly older than the harpist, in his late twenties, and stood a head taller than Everett. The badge sewn into his vest showed his rank as a Knight of Stormwind, and tucked under his right armpit he held a steel helmet, shaped in the visage of a snarling dog. He had a noble and arrogant air about him, broad-shouldered and long-legged, with a head full of white-blonde hair tied behind his head in a warriors knot, and green eyes brimming with laughter. His jaw, long and square like a lantern, was shaven and smooth, and his mouth seemed too wide for his face and made for laughing. He spied the harpist and Everett sitting in a corner and crossed the room over to them, smiling as if he knew some joke that no one else did.

He inclined his head politely at the harpist. "Trystane Florent. How good to see you." His voice was deep and rough, like iron scraping over stone.

The harpist sat there for a moment, staring, as if the knight had said something offensive. Then he burst into laughter and leapt, hugging him, and the man hugged him back. They made for a queer sight, this tiny dark-skinned harpist standing on his toes to hug the huge, pale knight around the neck. After the embrace, Trystane the harpist stood back.

"This is Ser Hyle Holden," Trystane piped excitedly with his singers' voice, "Commonly called Ser Hyle Hunt. You won't find a greater hunter in all of Westeros." The knight extended a gloved hand.

Everett pushed back from the table and stood, ignoring the offer. He took a strange pleasure in seeing the knight's broad smile curdle up and die. "I mean to leave tomorrow before the sun rises. I won't be paying both of you; you'll be sharing the gold if we find him. From what your Trystane has told me, the troll is up in Northshire and hidden deep in the forest, so it wouldn't make sense to travel mounted. Find a good stable for your royal mount, Ser Hunt, or sell it, I don't care. But we're going on foot, and you're going to bring your own provisions and bedroll."

Ser Hyle's lips tightened into a flat line, and his bushy brows knit themselves together in a frown. He opened his mouth to speak, but Trystane grabbed him by the arm, and he shut his mouth with a snap. Everett turned and left them, heading upstairs to prepare himself for the hunt of his kin.

True to his word, they rose before the sun and set out just at it began to rise, painting the horizon a lovely orange-pink, like a great grapefruit. The guards standing at the gates of Stormwind barely glanced at them as they made their way down the road to Goldshire. After the great capital city dwindled behind them, they angled off the dirt road north, through the woods. The trees pressed close around them, like so many tall brown spears. Autumn had begun to show itself; the thick broad leaves of the great oaks began to turn brown and brittle, falling around them every so often. The morning air itself was chill and bracing, Everett thought, and they made a good pace.

Ser Hyle led the way, stepping deftly over rocks and pinecones with a natural grace, stopping occasionally to investigate this snapped twig or that broken leaf. Trystane strung his lute and began to strum a slow, romantic tune called 'Mankirk and His Wife'. The tune was strange, and Everett was sure that he'd never heard it before, but he liked it. He turned and studied the harpist, who winked as he began to play the chorus. He found himself warming to this bard, little as he liked it.

"I didn't know you played the lute, too, Trystane," said Hyle nonchalantly as he ducked under a low-hanging branch.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, ser," said the harpist with a devilish smile. Everett rolled his eyes, kicking away a pinecone, as Ser Hyle made a sound that was half laugh and half growl. No roads ran through the twisted valley they walked now. They passed still blue lakes, long and deep and narrow. The undergrowth was sparse beneath them, the forest floor carpeted in dark green needles and golden autumn leaves. They soon lost their way, and had to wait until night to continue under the guidance of the stars in the sky. As Ser Hyle and Trystane talked and laughed in hushed whispers ahead of him, Everett tucked his hands into his armpits and found himself wondering what Florian was doing. He pictured him floating dead and swollen in some riverbank, or maybe lost deep in the very forest they walked, sheltering in some damp cave mouth and starving to death.

"Trees and trees, leaves and leaves, "Trystane half said, half sang, as they walked. "I hate these stupid forests of yours, Hyle. I don't know why you're so fond of them."

Ser Hyle barked laughter. "Last time we were here you said you loved them."

"Oh, I did, but I was drunk on wine and Ser Hyle. Still, I was raised in Durotar, so I haven't seen forests until fairly recent. I love them more than I can say."

The knight crossed his arms and smiled again, stepping over a rotted log. "But you just said you hated them."

"Why can't it be both?" Trystane reached over playfully to pinch his cheek. The knight swatted it away.

"Because they're different, you fool," said Ser Hyle, "Like night and day, or ice and fire, or harpist and knight."

"If ice can burn," Said Trystane as he adjusted his glasses, "then love and hate can mate. Forest or desert, it makes no difference, the land is one. And besides, ser, we are not so different. I am the greatest bard in the eastern kingdoms, and you are the greatest knight, correct?"

Ser Hyle snorted. "I'm only great because I've been working at swordplay since I was old enough to hold a blade."

Everett rolled his eyes again with disgust. Trystane chuckled, covering his mouth with his hand. "And did you think I decided a week ago that I was simply going to master the harp and the lute? I've been doing this all my life too, you know," the bard pointed out, "and besides, I bet you can't carry a tune to save your life."

"I bet you can't wield a sword to save your life," Ser Hyle shot back with a smirk.

They had no shortage of food. Hyle was a fine hunter, carrying a boar or a brace of rabbits back to their campfire almost every time they camped. He was an even better fisherman, standing motionless in a stream with sword in hand, stabbing into the water, and pulling out a flailing trout on its tip. Trystane liked to watch him, constantly voicing his admiration of Ser Hyle's quickness and agility, as Everett sat frowning.

Some days it rained, some days were windy and cold, and once there was a storm so fierce that Trystane clutched at Hyle and begged them to find a cave until the storm blew over. On the clear days, surrounded by endless leaves and trees, it seemed as though they were the only living things in all the world.

"Does no one live up here?" Trystane asked once as they made their way around a mountainside as big as a city. "There's people," Hyle answered, "Northshire Abbey should be somewhere to the east by now. The men and women there graze their sheep all in this forest, and a bit farther to the east there's a pumpkin patch filled to the brim with outlaws. We could go to Northshire and ask for help, but to be honest, they'll probably be more hindrance than help."

"Yes," Everett agreed, "We should just carry on by ourselves. "It was the first words he'd said since they left Stormwind. "There's only one troll, as far as I know," he continued, "We don't need an army to catch her, and I'm fairly certain that the more people we travel with, the slower pace we'll have."

"And there's also the element of surprise," Hyle pointed out. He stopped and squatted, frowning as he studied the forest floor. He brushed aside a handful of half-rotted leaves to reveal a two-toed footprint sunken in the mud underneath. Beside it he found smaller footprints of the five-toed kind, and the animal tracks of some type of cat or lioness.

"We should be getting close now, I think. The tracks are fresher here, and the prints are large enough that no human could make them." He picked up something, and when he lifted it Everett and Trystane could see that it was an arrow, snapped in two.

"They are close," whispered Ser Hyle, "Very close." The harpist disappeared into the woods to relieve himself as Ser Hyle checked his arms and armor. He rattled the sword in its sheath to keep it loose, should they need it. Everett did the same, pulling his hood up over his face. He dug into his satchel and pulled out an oil-dipped torch as the knight lifted his snarling helmet and lowered it slowly on his head, and where Ser Hyle Hunt was a moment ago now walked a steel dog.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A**_la'na quickly ducked behind the brush, grabbing Jonquil by the belt and pulling her down with her. The orc seemed to have a warrior's instinct about her, as she instantly understood what was happening. She deftly handed Ala'na the longbow and quiver, but they only had three arrows left; the fact that she instantly recognized Ala'na as the better archer spoke volumes of respect. Ala'na slid her dagger out and tossed it to the orc, who caught it and frowned. Jonquil drew her finger up the edge to test its sharpness, and then her eyes darted to Ala'na.

"Don't even think about it, bitch," Ala'na spat in Orcish. "You're still wearing a collar; you'd be smart not to forget that." Ala'na thought she saw a flicker of fear on her face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. Ala'na cupped her hands around her mouth and made a bird call, slipping her second dagger out of her left boot.

Alzira appeared beside her as if by magic, so sudden that she startled Ala'na. The albino panther was as silent as a ghost, with eyes red like pools of bright blood. Ala'na ran her fingers through Alzira's mane as the panther licked Ala'na's face affectionately. She seemed to have recovered fully from the spear wound she'd taken from Jonquil, with only a dark scar as evidence that the wound was ever there.

"There are two," Jonquil whispered beside her, so quietly that Ala'na had to turn and read her lips to understand. "Two humans." She pointed at the clearing with a thick green finger, and Ala'na saw. One was facing away from them, poking at the flaming remains of the fireplace with a longsword. He was larger than most humans had a right to be, and wearing hunting leathers with bits of steel chain covering his hands, feet, and chest. His most notable feature was the polished helmet on his head, shaped like a barking dog with steel rows of teeth and smalls slits for the eyes, and the wine-red cloak that draped over his shoulders like a blanket.

The other was a shorter, wider man, cloaked and hooded all in black, but his shoulders were just as square and his arms just as thick. He was walking along the perimeter of the wreckage, sword in hand, kicking apart chunks of wood and soot as he went, his hood facing the ruins of their home as if he were searching for something. He sagged with a heavy weight when he walked, and Ala'na could tell that he wore armor under his heavy black robes. He wore dark iron riding boots that came all the way up to his knees, and to Ala'na he looked almost familiar. She'd definitely seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't quite say where. In his left hand he held a torch.

Ala'na stared at that torch, reflecting on all the research and books she'd lost, and she suddenly felt a terrible fury welling in the pit of her stomach. She tried to fight down her anger, gritting her sharpened teeth, but suddenly tears were in her eyes, and she could take it no longer. She leapt from the bush in a blind fury, screaming and charging, her sword and bow and arrows forgotten.

She yelled, 'You _bastards!_' and both the humans turned and looked at her in alarm as she closed the distance in four long strides.

He stood in fear, paralyzed by the enraged troll. Everett told himself he should move, should bring his sword up, but all he did was stand and stare; he'd never been afraid of anything or anyone, but death was speeding straight towards him, screaming in a foreign tongue. The troll crashed into him and slammed Everett in the belly with an azure fist, causing him to double over in pain, and when she pulled her fist back, a knife was in her hand, dripping with dark blood all the way to the hilt. A pool of red spread out from Everett's belly as he gaped in confusion, dropping the torch and bringing up his blade, stumbling back, but she was still on him, hacking and slashing with blinding rage. The blade tore at his robe but ricocheted off the chainmail underneath harmlessly. He caught her wrist as she swung for his throat, but she smashed her forehead into his eye. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as he staggered back, blind, swinging his sword wildly to keep the troll at bay. He swung and missed as she ducked under the sword with catlike agility, and then caught her with a savage backhand as she came back up.

The troll staggered, and then Ser Hyle was on her, roaring and swinging a savage two-handed overhead strike that would have opened her from neck to groin. The troll's sword slid out of the sheath just in time to knock aside the blade, and the dance began. The steel hound was a grim, methodical fighter, pressing her steadily backward with lazy parries and swings. The trolls cuts were sloppier, her parries rushed, her face contorted in fury. _She's too angry to fight effectively,_ Everett realized with excitement, his hand over his bleeding wound. He was too weak to help, and besides, Ser Hyle seemed to be getting the better of her.

"She's yours," He shouted over the crash of blade on blade, "She's yours, at her!"

Ser Hyle stumbled, but turned his fall into a desperate lunge, and the point scraped across the troll's guard. The troll gave a grunt of pain, and suddenly she was bleeding from the shoulder. It seemed to make her angrier. She roared, swinging, and drove Ser Hyle back with a string of furious attacks, but no blade so much as touched the knight. It was as if there was an iron cage around him that stopped every blow.

In the blink of an eye arrows sprouted from the knights' side, one two three, and he went down on one knee. Everett's hope blew out like a candle, and his excitement turned to cold panic in the pit of his stomach. He searched for the sniper and spied her; a curvy orcish woman was loosing from the greenery, crouched and half-hidden in the bushes.

Ala'na instantly seized her opportunity, and _ran _at the human with her blade held out in front of her, crashing into him. The steel punched through mail and leather and skin and muscle, coming all the way out of his back, rasping as it slid along his spine. She was so close that she could see his eyes behind his helm, widened with shock, slowly darkening with death. His last breath came rattling out in her face, and all at once she held a corpse. Chest to chest, she felt the steel teeth of his helmet mashed up against her cheek. The world seemed to stand still. She planted a foot on him and pulled the blade free just as the second human crashed into her. The world spun as he lifted her and slammed her on her head.

She twisted, lifting her bloody sword, but the hooded human's blade came shivering down in a silver arc almost too fast to see, and Ala'na screamed. Her hand flew off in an arc, trailing blood behind it.

Everett lifted the point of his blade, preparing to put it through the troll's throat, but suddenly something lightly smacked him on the back of his arm. He turned and saw the torch at his feet, lit, and realized that it was thrown at him. Flame spread slowly up the tattered sleeve of his robe and up into his hood. He tried beating out the flames, panic engulfing him, and he realized he was screaming. He tried to pull the robe over his head and fling it away, but it snagged on his chainmail links. The flames were everywhere, on his arms and in his eyes, burning him alive, and he was dimly aware of the orcish woman helping up the troll and carrying her away, bleeding and unconscious. He fell to the ground and rolled, trying to kill the flames, but they roared brighter.

_Is this how I'm going to die?_ He struggled and screamed in agony, feeling helpless. He grew still, simply waiting for his death to come as a release to the pain. The skies sighed as a heavy rain began to fall, almost in answer. The flames hissed and died, and Everett laid there, with searing pain engulfing his entire body.


	8. Chapter 8

_T__his is an evil dream_, thought Ala'na, _But if its a dream, why does it hurt so bad?_

The world had vanished in a red roar of pain, replaced by darkness and spiraling half-formed shapes. She tried to remember what had happened, why she was here, but her wits were slow and thick and slipping from her even as she grasped for it, like water slipping between her fingers. Dark shadows whirled around her, men and beast alike, snarling and cursing at her in their shadow tongue. She hurt so much that she could cry, the pain clouding her every thought until she could no longer focus. _So this is what it feels like to die._

She suddenly found herself in a world of grey, walking through a landscape without color. Crows soared through the grey sky on wide black wings, and grey scorpions scuttled across the white desert sands. The sun was a hot white penny, shining down on the desert with fierce heat. In the distance she could see a small village of thatched wooden huts nestled on the shore of a black, black sea, and from the center of the village rose a black column of smoke. _Sen'Jin village,_ she realized, _I'm home. I'm finally home. _

At first there was not a single sound in the entire world, outside of a high pitched whine in her ears. Then, slowly, she began to hear the ocean brushing gently across the shore, and the distant coarse bark of thick Trollish coming from the village. Then another voice, and a third, and it sounded as if three men were arguing, although she was too far away to make out their words. She took an unsteady step towards the village, then another, amidst grey shadows, trying to remember when and why, her wits still thick and slow like honey.

She looked down at her body, and realized that she was naked as the day she was born, and her skin was gray instead of azure. _Thats wrong,_ she thought dimly, as she stepped around the line of huts. Three gray trolls sat astride their mounts, wicked white and black and gray raptors with saddles, flicking their tails impatiently and pawing at the white desert earth. The three trolls were shirtless, she saw, and their torsos and faces were covered in thick black war paint. They were long and sinewy, all muscle and no fat, like herself, and each clutched a different weapon, riding slowly around the campfire in a circle. One clutched an oaken spear in a meaty fist, topped with a half-rotted centaur head swarming with flies, one had a bow slung from his saddle and a quiver on his back, and the third had a small shield and axe, the blade jagged and bloody and dripping with black blood.

"We can't keep her," spat the spear-wielder, clutching the reins with his free hand. He was grimacing as if he stepped in something, and he was the only bearded troll, his facial hair a thick braided bush of white with a streak of black. The hair on his head receeded from his thin face in a sharp widows peak, white and braided, down past his shoulders, and a black cross was painted on his broad forehead. A long, thin scar began under his eyebrow, crossed his blind eye, and ended at his jaw, the legacy of an axe blow that had almost ended him. He had a thin leather chord around his neck, from which dangled a dozen scraps of leather. Looking closer, she realized that they were ears. She knew this man, and suddenly his name came back to her, a whisper in the back of her mind. _Rhaego The Warchief._

"We can, and we will," said the archer, twisting in his saddle to face them, his body taunt with lean muscle. "She has nowhere to go, Rhaego," he pointed out, "And she is blood of our blood." His hair was tied back in a tight warriors knot, pitch black, and his face was clean-shaven. A trail of black tears were painted under his left eye, all the way down to his jaw. He was the youngest, by far, and seemed to have a long, thin face made for smiling. _Rakharo The Weeper,_ she realized, her heart lurching in joy. She wanted to call out to them, but when she tried to speak she couldn't. She raised a hand to her mouth, but where her fingers should have found lips and sharp teeth and tusks, only seamless flesh covered the lower half of her face. The discovery horrified her. How could she live without a mouth? _This cannot be, _she thought, despairing, cold panic rising in her gut. It was as if Rhaego heard her thoughts, for the tips of pointed ears twitched, and his head swiveled as he looked directly at her, frowning. Ala'na's heart froze, but after a moment she realized he was looking through her, and quick as that his head turned away.

"Rakharo has the right of it, chief," grumbled the third troll with a deep voice that sounded like steel scraping over stone. He was short and squat by troll standards, but his width made up for his height. He was bald and angry, with small, dark, suspicious eyes and thick stubble covering his jaw like a lumberjack, and thick tree-trunk arms. His right hand was missing a finger, and trolls only had two and a thumb.A black skull was painted across his broad chest, and his muscled belly was round and hard like a small boulder. He reached down and hung his little steel shield from his saddle, where it dangled with every slow step his raptor took. He dug deep in his trousers and pulled out a cloth, spattered with an ink-black liquid. It looked like blood, Ala'na thought, but in this colorless world it was hard to tell. He moved the cloth up and down the blade of his axe carefully, wiping away the black blood and gritting his teeth. _Half-Hand Jhogo, _a voice said, far off and distant. _ Jhogo with the strong arms and the fierce heart. _The troll seemed to be dark and angry and brooding at first impression, but under all that he had cared about Ala'na the most, and had a soft heart and a love of ale. "I dont like kids either. I was made to hold an axe and kill my enemies, not to change diapers and cook. Still, we found her, and we must care for her." _My brothers, _ she realized with longing. They werent her brothers in truth, but they were the closest thing she had ever had to a family.

A little troll girl emerged slowly from of one of the huts, pulling a teddy bear with a tiny hand and rubbing the sleep from her large eyes with the other. The warriors broke off their conversation as they noticed her there, and Ala'na stared. _No, this cannot be, this makes no sense,_ she thought as she stared at herself as she was, a tiny and timid girl of six years. She looked like she was about to cry as she stood there with short, stubby legs. "I'm hungry," she said, with a voice as tiny as herself.

"Go inside now, sweetling," said Rakharo, smiling. "I will hunt for you soon, and bring you back a fat boar. Would you like that?"

"No. The meat is stringy and gets stuck in my teeth. I hate boar," said the girl with a pout, crossing her tiny arms. Rakharo's smile dissapeared, and Jhogo gave a short bark of laugther, slapping his belly. Rhaego only scowled at her. "Go inside. Now," commanded Rhaego.

Horrified by that grimace, she dissapeared back inside without another word, dragging her teddy bear behind her and leaving a trail in the sand. After a moment of silence, Rakharo said quietly, "What is her name?"

"I dont know," chirped Rakharo. "While scouting for centaur, I found her unconscious in a dune two miles from here, naked as ever, with only that damn teddy bear. She doesnt even know her own name, and she cant remember anything about her parents or how she got there. Very queer, if you ask me."

Rhaego frowned, then spit. "You should've left her there, Rakharo. The last thing we need is another useless mouth in my village." He paused, stroking his beard. "But its no use talking about _should have _and _would have_," he barked in Trollish. "She is here now, and one of us, so I cannot simply turn away from her and pretend she does not exist. Let her stay, I suppose, and give her an empty room in the storage hut. Teach her to fish and hunt and cook, Rakharo, and the way of the bow. Teach her the way of the sword and axe, Jhogo, and the culture of our people. I will teach her to read and count, I suppose. If she's here, she going to contribute, whether by blacksmithing or carpentry or healing. As long as she is here, she will pull her own weight, but she will have her own bed and food."

Rakharo and Jhogo smiled as their raptors paced restlessly, pleased with his decision. They crossed their fists over their hearts, and said as one, " As you command, chieftan."

Rhaego crossed his fist over his heart as well and said, "Then let it be done, blood of my blood, and let this girl be named Ala'na in honor of our great-mother."

"Ala'na. Yes," said Rakharo with an easy smile. "I like that. _Ala'na," _his voice faded with the surroundings. Everything shrunk away and dissolved and melted away before her eyes, and the voice echoed on endlessly, _Ala'nananananananananananana... Ala'na...Ala'na..._

"Ala'na? Ala'na? Can you hear me, Ala'na?"

she dreamed Jonquil and her human pet were standing over her, frowning, as Jonquil wiped a damp cloth across her forehead. The moisture felt good against her heated skin. The battle came back in fits and flashes, and she began to cough and sputter, and she weezed up a mass of dark blood. Her head felt swollen, too big for her body, and she could barely feel her body at all. Everything was distant, far off, as if she were half-asleep or in a well, but at least the colors had returned to the world.

_ "_We'll have to seal her stump shut. Hand me the torch." Florian hurried off, and appeared a moment later, handing Jonquil his prize. It was so bright that it hurt her eyes, sending stabs of pain into her throbbing headache.

Jonquil said to Florian, "Hold her down," and he dissapeared again. Jonquil bent over her, the torch hovering over her left hand. Ala'na mustered all the strength in her body and craned her head to look down, and saw a bloody stump that ended at the wrist, where her hand used to be. _No, _she thought, _No! This is a dream, a nightmare, I will wake soon and I will be whole._ The flame touched her stump, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air as pain lanced up her arm and up her shoulder. The pain was blinding, She screamed, shuddered, and succumbed back into the fevered darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

_**E**_verett found himself in a white cathedral, moonlight shining through the stained glass of the church windows.

Dust motes floated in the air, suspended in space. Granite statues of half-remembered kings stood along the walls, twenty feet tall and clasping the hilts of great stone swords in their fists. Between them, torches hung from the walls, burning brightly, and the shifting light seemed to make the statues' faces change expression with every flicker of the flames. Wooden benches squeezed into the church hall, where people could come to pray and witness marriages, but the seats were all vacant. At the far end of the cathedral was a great statue carved in the likeness of The Lord of Light, garbed in stone robe, crown and scepter. His statue was ten feet taller than the others, and below him burned a dozen half-melted candles. Everett stood behind a single woman, cloaked and hooded all in white, kneeling in front of the statue, her hands clasped together in prayer.

Everett never considered himself a holy man, but when he was a child his mother and father often took them here on Sunday mornings for service. That seemed a thousand years ago, though, back before Florian was even a thought, let alone a child.

_How did I get here? Is this a dream?_

Everett lifted his hands in front of his face, slowly opening and closing them, staring at them dumbly. _This does not seem like a dream._ But then again, his dreams never did until he woke. He strode towards the woman, the weight of his black robes and chainmail weighing him down with every heavy step. The woman did not turn or stir, as if she couldn't hear him approaching. _Something is wrong,_ he thought suddenly. His left hand drifted down to clasp the hilt of the longsword at his hip, his right reaching out towards the woman's shoulder. When he touched her, she stood and turned slowly. Everett recoiled, taking a step back in alarm.

The woman looked familiar, although Everett couldn't have said how. Her face was heart-shaped, with deep blue eyes full of sorrow and long coal-black locks half-hidden under her hood. She almost looked like his brother, _almost, _but with full lips and high, arching eyebrows, like some beautiful queen. She was a head shorter than Everett, her unblinking eyes piercing into his very soul. He couldn't put an age to the woman if his life had depended on it. _Fifty, _he thought, _or_ _fifteen, I'm not sure. _Her face seemed to flicker between the innocence of youth and the wisdom of experience even before his eyes, appearing older and younger in turn, almost simultaneously.

"Everett," she whispered. The word tugged on his heart, so full of grief it was. Tears brimmed in her eyes and fell down her pale cheeks. She lurched past him suddenly, walking towards the thick doors of the great cathedral. Everett reached after her, saying "No, don't go," but of course she was gone. She'd left them a long time ago. The flames made the statues along the walls seem to move, and then they _were _moving, shuddering and shifting like some beast emerging from hibernation. Dumb with panic, his hand reached for his scabbard. Too late, he realized it was empty.

_No, this cannot be, it was just there,_ _it's not fair,_ he thought with despair, as the statues tore themselves free from the walls with a monstrous groan and a deep rumble that seemed to shake his very bones. The statues looked around slowly, as if confused, and then the great doors of the cathedral burst open with a _crash _that made Everett jump.

The troll strode in from the black night, the one who stole away his brother, grinning with malice, cloaked and hooded in shadow and fog. She strode quickly down the length of the cathedral, around the legs of the giant statues, her eyes shining with mockery, directly towards Everett.

"You!" spat Everett, the word vile on this tongue. He tried to leap forward to meet her, to bash her skull in with his fists and squeeze her neck until her face turned black, but he couldn't move. His limbs would not obey, and were frozen in place. She walked right up to Everett, until they were face to face and her tusks were almost touching his nose. Her head tilted back and she cackled, laughing at him. "SHE-DEVIL!" he screamed, his spittle landing on her cheeks. "HELL WHORE!" Everett knew the words were useless even as he said them, for she did not speak his civilized language. The statues stopped and gaped at them, giant dumb stone creatures.

The troll reached up, almost gently, her hand cupping his left cheek with a sneer. Her hand burst into flame with a _crackle_, and his flesh _burned, _and Everett screamed. When she pulled away her hand, his flesh sloughed off, burning and melting off the left side of his face. He thrashed and fought, screaming "NO! GET AWAY FROM ME!", as the world dissolved around him in a haze of pain and flames.

"Stop fighting! Hold still, sir, you're hurt real bad." A dark-skinned boy crouched over him, frowning down as he dabbed at his face with a wet cloth. Everett lurched up and grabbed the boy by the necklace around his throat, twisting and pulling it until the silver links dug into his skin. The boy dropped the cloth and grabbed Everett's fist, his eyes wide in terror, a high-pitched wheeze coming out of his mouth like a man trying to suck a river through a straw. "Wait,", he gasped, "Just…trying…to…help…" His face began to turn purple, and his eyes began to roll into the back of his head. _The harpist, _he remembered suddenly, _from the tavern._ He let go of the chain and the boy fell to the ground beside him, clutching his throat and gasping down gulps of air. The silver links of his necklace left an imprint in his dark skin, like so many tiny black kisses.

Everett felt weird. The skin on his face itched as he frowned, and felt tight for some reason. He rose unsteadily to his feet, his head swimming, his skin crawling with blazing pain. Examining himself, he realized he was shirtless, wearing only his trousers and dark iron riding boots. The skin on his upper arms and chest was burnt and blackened, almost like roasted pork. There was a ring around his bicep of pale flesh where his hidden knife was buckled, but above and below that the flesh was scorched and hairless, raw and pink. He heard the distant sound of rushing water over the noise the boy was making as he struggled to catch his breath. He stepped over the boy cringing on the ground and cradling his neck, limping towards the stream.

It was another two minutes before he found it, a small and shallow stream flowing between two large oak trees. He stepped to the edge and cupped the water in his hands, dashing it into his face and across his chest. The ice cold water felt like ecstasy against his dry and burnt skin. He cupped some water again, and poured it in his open mouth, gulping down the moisture eagerly. He took three more handfuls of water before he noticed himself staring back out of the reflection of the water, and stopped to stare dumbly.

_No, no. That is not me. My face…_ His eyes were the same dark blue, his teeth still straight and aligned and white, his ears still small and round. But his eyebrows were gone, as was the stubble that covered his jaw, and all of his flowing black locks had been burnt away, with only a few tufts as evidence of their existence. The face he saw was sunken and hollow now, and he could almost see the outline of the skull beneath. But the worst was his skin; the tough hide that gave him a rugged look was all but gone, burnt away in some spots, the flesh still clinging to his face in others. The raw, red skin was stretched taut across his face, and his cheek bones almost looked like spears fighting beneath the surface to break free. Even his eyes were sunken and hollow, giving him a haunted and vile look, almost like some sort of undead.

He slid the knife out of its sheath, staring at his reflection through a veil of tears. He raised the knife to his throat and paused, the tip of the blade pricking his adam's apple. A small bead of blood began to well up around the tip of the blade. He curled his fingers around the hilt, the tears now streaming down his cheeks. He had no mother, no father, and no purpose in living. _Why was I even born? At least as a slave I could work towards being free. _But now that he _was_ free, what would he do now? He couldn't even find his brother. A tear fell from his cheek into the rushing stream.

_No, I must live, _he told himself, _for at least a little longer._ He had to live, for his brother if not for himself, to kill the beast that held him captive. _My brother needs me._ He raised the blade to his scalp and began sawing away at the tufts of hair that remained, half-burnt and thin. His hair had been his pride, a reminder of his mother and father, as much a part of him as his hands or feet. But it was all gone now, and so was he. As his hair flowed downriver in thick clumps, he felt his humanity flowing away with them, replaced by the simple drive for vengeance and blood.


	10. Chapter 10

"No, you're doing it wrong. Put your weight into the strike, but stay on the balls of your tiny feet, human." Jonquil slowly swung the wooden blade, and Felix raised his shield to block it with a dull _thunk._ She raised her own shield in the path of his counter cut, a sloppy and predictable overhead swing. "Better", she admitted as she felt the weight behind the blow, "But you swing like a butcher hacking at meat. Swordplay is four parts grace and one part strength. Do you think your master is such a good fighter because of the strength in her arms? No, she has speed, and balance, and accuracy. These are the things you must master, little one, and keep your feet spread apart. "

She tapped the inside of his knees with the tip of her sword, and he spread his feet. As Felix huffed a lock of black hair out of his flushed face and frowned in frustration, Jonquil's eyes narrowed. "In fact, I think this is too simple for your human mind. Just stick them with the pointy end, remember that." She spun and slashed the wooden blade out of his hand with a _clack, _and it went spiraling off into the bushes_. _A light rain began to fall from the cloudy skies, soaking them even through the overhead branches. "We're done for today," she snorted. The little human boy gathered up his training sword and his dignity, following her through the jungle as she strode off back towards their dwelling.

Jonquil was, in truth, a master spear wielder; the best in her clan, and some even joked that she was born holding a spear. Jonquil herself could not say if that was true, but she'd been holding a spear as long as she could remember, hunting young boars and spearing round juicy fruit from cacti as a teen. But as a mercenary she was no stranger to swords, knives, axes, or longbows either. Jonquil quickly learned that in the heat of battle it was easy to lose your weapon, and you often had to make due with whatever you could find, be it from a fallen foe or a live one. In fact, most of her battles were fought with stolen weapons rather than her famous spear, Serpents Tongue, so named for the way it darted out to prick her opponents in their weak spots. She cringed at the thought, remembering that Ala'na had snapped her spear in half over her knee. She'd recovered the broken shaft and replaced it with a light oaken one, fastening the leaf-shaped steel spearhead to the new one. She tore the red strip of cloth from the old one, too, and tied it around the head of the new spear. She had neglected to tell Ala'na about that, though, for fear that she might take it from her. _Let her try, _Jonquil reflected, her pride flaring.

Ala'na hadn't woken since they seared her stump shut and wrapped it in clean linen almost ten days ago, and Jonquil feared that she was developing a strong fever. The boy was near her almost every hour of every day, standing over her unconscious form and biting his lip, Ala'na all wrapped in furs and bandages. Her pulse was faint, too, as if her very life barely clung on. Her face was scarred, too, but her troll's blood managed to regenerate most of that. As far as Jonquil knew, orcs were always jealous of trolls for that very reason. Orcs were stronger and sturdier in general, but trolls were faster and lankier, with better hearing and blood that could regenerate almost any wound. Still, the scar was there, beginning a hair under her left eyebrow and crossing the bridge of her nose, ending on the right side of her jaw, and no amount of troll's blood could regenerate the arm that ended in a stump at the wrist. Her great albino panther was nowhere to be seen, either, and he hadn't even participated in the battle with the two humans. That bothered Jonquil greatly, but for what reason she could not say.

They neared their dwelling, a small cave hidden in a cleft of rock overlooking a small pond and surrounded by trees. As Jonquil began to tread uphill towards the cave mouth with Felix right behind her, she considered ditching the both of them for the thousandth time. Felix didn't have the power to stop her, and neither did the unconscious Ala'na. Without her and that thrice-damned button that she pressed to electrocute them, Jonquil could leave whenever she wanted. As a mercenary she had often been forced to leave her own brothers to die hundreds of times, for promises of gold or promises of glory, and even to turn her cloak and slay the men who fought with her not even a day past. _Such is the life of a mercenary,_ Jonquil reflected. _A hard, hard life, with no room for emotion._

And yet she was still here, with the cripple and the boy, Jonquil being the lone thing that stood between them and death. The boy depended on her to hunt and fish, to defend them when beasts came to their lair, to lead him through the jungle where he would've been lost for months. Ala'na needed to be fed and cleaned, her bandages swapped out and washed, her wounds cared for. Jonquil could not say why she stayed when it would be easier to go. They needed her and she did not need them, so why didn't she leave? It was a simple thought, and yet the more she thought about it the more complicated it became. Jonquil was not a hero, not a caretaker, not a saint. No bard would sing of her great feats in battle, no mother would tell stories to their young about Jonquil's courage and strength and cunning. Some women were born for greatness, and Jonquil did not feel that she was one of them, nor did she want to be. _I am a mercenary, that's all I've ever been and that's all I will ever be. _But still she could not bring herself to leave. She ducked under the entrance of the cave mouth and entered, Felix right huffing and puffing behind her. The boy was small and skinny, but by no means in shape.

Ala'na was bundled up near the smoldering remains of the fire in a cocoon of furs, laying on her back with her legs sprawled out. Her lips were parted as she breathed slowly, her face flushed and feverish, and she'd kicked off part of the furs as she'd slept. Beneath, her azure bottom was bare and visible, heart-shaped and tight and illuminated by the fire, her sex framed with the same thick mane of red hair on her head. Even her cheeks had a hint of fevered redness. Jonquil felt the color rising to her cheeks, her heart beat quickening. Dropping the training sword, she crossed the cave quickly and pulled the furs down to cover Ala'na's legs and what lay between them. Glancing up, she realized that she'd pulled it down too far. Her breasts were spilled out now, the nipples round and hard and pink, rising and falling with every breath she took. Jonquil flushed, pulling the covers back up to conceal her bosom.

When Jonquil turned, she saw Felix standing there, his eyes wide and round like eggs. Jonquil slapped her forehead._ The gods are cruel to inflict these two on me. _The boy was gaping and frozen in place as if he'd seen someone with two heads, and color began to rise in his pale face. He seemed to have forgotten that he was tired from the climb. "Uh," Jonquil started. "How old are you, exactly?"

He composed himself, cleared his throat, and said "Fifteen."

Jonquil wasn't sure how long it took for humans to mature, but he seemed to not comprehend what he'd just seen. Jonquil sighed, wondering how a battle-hardened orcish mercenary would look giving the birds-and-the-bees talk to a human boy. It was too comical, and she would've laughed if she wasn't so flustered. "God damn it," she spat.


	11. Chapter 11

"Open your eyes, huntress."

Ala'na's eyes cracked open in the oil-black darkness. She was kneeling in waist-deep water as cold as ice. The dark was unnaturally heavy, so thick that she couldn't even see the water that she felt around her waist. She rose to unsteady feet, her hands groping at her body. It was whole and well. _A dream, _thought Ala'na, _a bad dream. Thats all it was, a nightmare. _ _I dreamt...I dreamt..._ the scenes of the battle flashed before her, the pressure of the steel toothed dog helmet mashed up against her cheek, the sound of the knights' death rattle, the feel of the blade rasping as it slid along his spine.

She raised her left hand in front of her face, but the darkness did not permit her to see even that. Still, she closed and opened the fingers slowly. The relief of having her hand again felt as good as sex. _ Just a nightmare..._ she was naked, she realized, and the cold of the water cut through flesh and muscle and chilled her bones. She trembled, wrapping her arms around her naked torso. _Where am I? How did I get here? Am I dead? _

Her answer was a sudden binding blaze of light. Ala'na raised her hands to shield her eyes. The light stung so much that it made her tears roll down her cheeks. When she lowered her hand, she noticed him; A man stood before her, a human as tall as her, stooped and old. A great white beard flowed from his aged and wrinkled face, and he held a blazing torch in one hand. His sad eyes were a pale gray, like dirty chips of ice, and his face was an emotionless mask. He had an ageless look to him, with a heavy blue robe that covered him from head to waist, where the rest of him was hidden underwater. The torch provided a sphere of light around them, and the water seemed to stretch on endlessly in every direction from where they were standing, cold and black.

Ala'na flinched back at once, her sharpened teeth bared in a snarl, her hands curling into fists. "Get away from me, human," she hissed.

The old mans eyes crinkled in amusement. "I am no human, mortal," he said in a sad voice. He was speaking Trollish. "My existence is beyond your understanding," he said in Common. "I have been watching you since you were born, troubled one." This time he spoke Orcish. His accent in all three languages was flawless, although the orcish and trollish languages were not engineered to be spoken with a human mouth. An old, wrinkled hand poked out from his heavy sleeve, and he snapped his fingers. Another light billowed into existence, and Ala'na realized she held a flaming sword. The flame danced lightly up and down the blade, but the steel itself was not consumed, nor did the fire burn the hand she held it with. "Consider this a test," he said in Orcish.

The water around her thighs shifted, and Ala'na felt her skin begin to crawl. The water parted ten feet away as a a dark form shouldered out of the water like a mountain emerging from the sea. As it shambled closer through the water and into the light, Ala'na could begin to see it. It was _huge_, two feet taller than Ala'na and the old man, withthick tree trunk arms covered with coarse hair and a single frowning eye, a boulder belly and long curved tusks. It had the biggest hands that Ala'na had ever seen. _An ogre, _Ala'na realized. She lifted the blade squarely between her and the approaching beast. The ogre stopped and gaped at them dumbly, scratching his head.

"Slay this being," said the old man beside her.

Ala'na hesitated, the flames licking up and down the blade persistently. "...Is it evil?"

"Uh...yes, I suppose. He ransacked a village and tore apart everyone that lived there with his bare hands, plus he hasnt payed his taxes in a couple years." The kind old man chuckled lightly. "Although he does not see what he has done as evil, he has certainly done things that are most harmful to other life forms."

Ala'na wrapped both hands around the blade and leapt at the ogre. She brought the sword around in a flaming arc, and slashed open his belly. The ogre gripped his stomach and swung at her clumsily with an arm, knocking her back a good ten feet where she landed with a splash. The ogre wailed, trying to stuff his entrails back in his stomach as Ala'na lurched to her feet. The flaming blade had not gone out, even when splashed with water. Finally, the ogre fell over and died, stretching out in the water. It dissolved before her eyes, the flesh and bone and hair dissipating into a fine green mist. Before long, the corpse was gone.

"Very good," said the old man. He snapped his fingers again. The water lurched up and grew into the outline of a body, then solidified. A human stood before her with his hands at his sides, a naked man in his prime. His hair was a shaggy brown, his eyes black and staring, his body somewhat muscled and toned.

"Slay this being," said the old man beside her, again.

Ala'na's eyes narrowed, her eyebrows knitting themselves together in a frown. She readied the blade, then paused again. "...Is he...evil?"

"Not completely. He is like most men, with some good in him and some evil. He is neutral, I suppose, and yet he is a human. Humans are the sworn enemy of your race, are they not?"

"They are," she agreed. She started forward, blade in hand, and the human just looked at her as she approached, unflinching. She stepped up to him and raised the blade over her head, gripping the hilt, preparing to bring it down and open him from shoulder to groin. The human simply stood there. She paused, again, then turned back to look at the old man.

"I...I can't. Not yet. What has he done that he deserves death?"

"He slayed your mother and father. This man swung the blade that ended their lives." The old man's eyes were unblinking, piercing into her soul, judging her very being. She turned back to the human and gaped in shock, the hilt of the sword loose in her fingers. "But why?"

"Does it matter?" said the old man behind her. "He was the one who did it. Whatever the reason, he is guilty of taking their lives."

She studied the mans face. It was simple and honest, windburnt and tanned. A scar crossed his forehead and ended in front of his ear. "He is a soldier," she blurted without a second thought. "He was commanded to kill them in battle. Or he was defending himself on a battlefield," she said, suddenly sure. " I do not know this man, but I am pretty certain that he did not kill them out of personal malice."

"What if he did?" said the old man.

"Did he?", answered Ala'na.

There was no reply. When she turned, she saw that the old man was smiling. He snapped his fingers a third time and the man was gone, vanished like the ogre. "Very good, very good. You have more character than I seems that I was not wrong in my choice."

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he was dissolving away along with the torch and flaming sword, and soon all that remained were his eyes, pale and blue and ancient. Then those were gone,too, and Ala'na was left alone in the darkness.

Jonquil sniffed at the stump, peeling away the bandages. They were soaked through with blood and pus, and smelled as if it had festered. "This is not good," she said to no one in particular. "She may have to lose that arm..." She felt a pang of pity for the troll. Ala'na had been left handed. Unless she could learn to write and fight with her right hand, her career as a scientist and huntress was over, and she would never again be able to shoot an arrow or block with a shield. Jonquil had never been crippled or maimed,but she could imagine that it would be soul-crushing. _She had been such a good swordsman, too_, Jonquil thought gloomily. She'd seen Ala'na's duel with Huskar, the orc she was traveling with, and marveled at her quickness with the blade. Jonquil had never seen anyone best the orc with a sword, let alone slay him like she did.

"She'll be okay," Felix said behind her. He was cross-legged in front of the fire, poking at it with a stick. "She has to be okay."

Jonquil grunted at that. The wound had been pretty savage, and they couldnt afford to take her to a proper surgeon. Still, the boy in denial did little to make her feel better. She flipped the blanket back over the snoring Ala'na, sniffing again. Jonquil raised her arm and smelled under it, wrinkling her nose. In all her haste to find them shelter and get them fed, she'd forgotten to wash herself. She stood and began making her way to the cave entrance as Felix sat staring into the flames. Whatever he saw in the swirling fire, she would never know.

It was raining outside, again, pouring down lightly on the forest that surrounded them. Jonquil was not used to so much rain. Durotar was a land of sun and sand and cactus, and that was where she had been born and raised. _It never rains there. _Ala'na was more than likely from the motherland too, although Jonquil never thought to ask her. She stepped out of the cave and began making her way down the steep, rocky stope. The rain plastered her black hair to her green face. As she made her way down, her thoughts turned back to all the things that she hadn't asked Ala'na. She found a queer interest in the bookworm-ish female, and wanted to know more about her, even though there had been a time when they were trying to kill each other. Still, it was very hard to hate an enemy that you had to take care of. She imagined Ala'na home alone, all bundled up in a robe and wearing spectacles, with her hair tied back behind her head as she studied. Jonquil had never learned to read or write, and wondered what Ala'na found so interesting in her scraps of paper and her thick books.

She found the shallow lake she was looking for and began peeling off her leathers, leaving them in a pile under a cleft of rock to keep dry. She lowered herself into the water until she was almost nose-deep, noticing the dirt that sloughed off her skin to congeal on the water surface. Closing her eyes, Jonquil felt at peace. She heard the sounds of the rainforest all around her, the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the lake, the distant howling of unknown animals, the soft boom of thunder. She could feel a tiny fish nibbling on her ankle. _I guess all this water isn't so bad._ Suddenly, randomly, she wished that Ala'na was here to share her bath.

As she scrubbed her arms, she wondered idly what the troll woman would look like fully naked, how it would feel to scrub her clean. The troll was taller and leaner than her, but she still had a face that was not unpleasant to look upon. Jonquil had always considered herself attractive by orc standards, but the troll was on a level of her own. She had none of the curves and bust that Jonquil boasted, but she still had small, girlish hips, like Jonquil when she was in her teens. She was cute in a lanky, awkward way, almost sexy. She wondered what it would feel like to have those long legs wrapped around her. She could feel color rising in her cheeks, and turned her throughts elsewhere.

The rain began to fall in earnest by the time she was done bathing. She shook her wild black mane of hair out, and curled a lock of hair behind an ear with a finger. Using her old, dirty clothing, she dried herself off. She tied her shirt around her breasts and the pants around her hips, making her way back to the cave.

As she traveled deeper into the gloom of the cave, the sounds of rain dwindled behind her. The walls glowed with a reddish hew from the fireplace, and Felix was seated where she was where she'd left. The shadow he cast against the damp cave wall was larger than life. The warmth of the fire was a welcome change to the freezing downpour.

Jonquil doubled over to pull her clothing from a pile of shirts and pants that her and Ala'na shared. She lifted a purple tunic, sniffed at it, and picked up a brown one instead. She snatched up black woolen breeches too, thick enough to help her stay warm in the cold and rainy climate, and a white loincloth. As she pulled off her old clothing and squeezed into the new, she craned her head to see if the boy was watching her disrobe. He wasn't. He was staring into the fire, still.

"Don't you have something better to do?"


	12. Chapter 12

She wore a crude, lacquered wooden mask that was carved in the visage of a monkey, with small slits for the nose and eyes. Jonquil had fashioned the mask years ago to hide her identity when she still rode with the Brazen Beasts, a masked band of raiders and slavers, but today she would need to don that haunted mask again. They ran out of bandages and medicine to care for Ala'na, and all they had to eat were the animals they hunted. Almost a month of charred meat and water would drive anyone insane. Jonquil yearned for ale and bread, Felix for oranges and clothing that fit him. So, after days of contemplation, Jonquil decided to risk a visit to Goldshire, the nearest human town. She donned a cloak and robe, heavy and gray, and pulled on leather gloves and boots. The mask was the last thing she equipped, tying the wood to her face with thin leather straps. With her heavy hood pulled up to conceal her green skin, she could easily be mistaken for another stocky human woman. She left her spear propped up against the rough-hewn rock wall near her bedroll, but was sure to arm herself with Ala'na's longsword and her own jagged hunting knife. After all, Ala'na wouldn't miss it.

So she calmed Ala'na's raptor mount with a few quiet words and swung up into the saddle on its back, commanding Felix to keep an eye on the troll. "I'll be back by dawn, or not at all," she barked at him, and whipped the reins. The raptor lurched forward with a shriek, crashing through the forest at an alarming speed. Tree branches whipped at her as she passed them, and before long the cave they were living in was out of view. She ducked under an especially thick branch, and gasped as a long twig ripped her hood back from her head. She pulled it back up and slowed her pace.

In less than an hour she found the Gold Road, a wide dirt trail that served as a highway between major human cities. For the hundredth thousandth time, she considered just riding off and leaving the dying troll and human boy. They were a nuisance, to be honest, and there was not an honorable bone in her body. Mercenaries, sellswords, and outlaws could not afford to have honor. _Honor will get you killed, _Jonquil reflected bitterly, biting her lip as she swayed in the saddle_._ Someone once told her that there were honorable mercenaries, and old mercenaries, but there were no old honorable mercenaries. The honorable ones died long before they could get old. She couldn't remember who'd told her that, now that she thought about it.

She rode all morning, yawning the whole way through. She rode through prairies and fields dotted with farmers hard at work tilling their farms. The heavy robe and hood made the heat almost unbearable, and the mask made it hard for her to breathe. Jonquil had to resist the urge to pull off her mask and feel the wind on her face, just for a moment. She could see no one else riding up or down the road, and no one in the plains around her for miles, but still, she couldn't risk it.

Around midday, Jonquil could make out a distant two humans further down the road, plainly clothed. They were heading in the opposite direction, hauling a normally horse-drawn cart with their hands. When she squinted behind her mask, Jonquil could see that they were husband and wife. They were both barefoot and red-faced with exhaustion, and didn't even seem to notice the hooded and masked Jonquil, nor the raptor that she rode towards them. Jonquil knew that trolls and orcs often rode large wolves and raptors, but humans were more inclined to ride horses. She was armed and they were not, but still she stiffened and hunched in the saddle, pulling her hood up even more about her face and looking up at the sky as she passed them. The clouds were spread out in a thin white sheet that covered even the sun, threatening to rain. Jonquil silently thanked the gods for that—rain reduced visibility to near nothing, and that would be a blessing. The humans gave her no trouble, either, and for that she was doubly grateful.

An hour later, something pricked her attention. She pulled hard on the reins and stopped, her head swiveling, sniffing the air. The raptor shrieked with impatience, pawing the ground beneath them with sharp talons. The tiny air holes in her mask made it hard for her to smell, but still she could make out the stench of smoke. Strong smoke, and close, very close. The woods were thick here, the trees pressed against both sides of the road, so she could see nothing around the bend in the path ahead. Carefully, she squeezed her heels into the sides of her mount. The raptor stepped forward gingerly, slowly riding around the bend in the road. As they turned the corner, she saw the source of the fire.

Thirty feet up the road, a farmer was crouched by the roadway behind a tree, facing away from her. He was cooking a haunch of meat over a small flame, sipping from a wineskin, and hadn't noticed her. Jonquil's hand drifted down to her side and gripped the hilt of the longsword sheathed at her hip. Her stomach growled and tied itself in knots, her hunger surging up at the sight of food. She realized that she hadn't eaten in three days—game had become scarce around the cave, and Jonquil had to hunt farther and farther away from their cozy dwelling every day. The blade made a faint whisper as it slid from the leather sheath. She braced herself to charge the human, kill him, and rob him of his meal, crouching in the saddle like a tiger before it pounces.

But just then the farmer stood, smiling, and waved to someone on the other side of the road. A red-haired woman crossed the road gingerly, smiling and barefoot and pregnant, sitting cross-legged in the grass next to the farmer. They exchanged a quick kiss and began chatting excitedly and laughing as they passed the wineskin back and forth.

Jonquil hesitated, and then cursed under her breath. She spat, and then sheathed her sword. She grabbed the robe over her stomach as it growled in protest. Frowning, she forced her mount into the trees. She rode around the couple in a mile-long circle and found her way back onto the road further on.

The sun had almost set by the time she paused on a low mountain to water her mount at a stream running parallel to the road. The raptor dipped its snout into the stream and gulped down the water eagerly. Jonquil ripped off her suffocating mask and peeled off her gloves. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her arse was raw from hours in the saddle. She splashed cold water on her face and sipped it from her cupped hands. The water felt good as it ran down her dry throat, so she took another handful. It helped to fill her belly, but it was no substitute for a meal. She refilled her waterskin too, and sat against a tree to work out the knots in her cramped thighs as the raptor continued drinking. She unhooked her swordbelt so that she could sit comfortably and left it in a pile next to her, the sword and knife still sheathed. Then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in the earthy smells of the forest. She had come to learn that smell, she realized. The night was filled with the sound of far-off birds and booming thunder. It would be raining soon, Jonquil knew, she could smell it on the wind more than she could hear the thunder.

And there was some other sound, but it was too faint to make out, even with her acute hearing. Some hunters' instinct made her open her eyes and lurch to her feet, her pointed ears pricked up, waiting, listening, and there it was again. A distant command, followed by the faint sound of rattling armor, carried on the wind. Her heart sank into her stomach. She pulled back on her gloves hurriedly and began to scramble up the tree she was laying against moment before. She reached and pulled at the branches, her feet scrambling for purchase against the smooth wood. In a dozen heartbeats she was halfway up the tree, wedged comfortably between two branches as thick around as her arm. She squinted at the countryside, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Woods spread far to the north and east as far as she could see, and to the west a great ocean could be seen far away on the horizon. To the south, where Felix and Ala'na were hiding, was nothing but prairies and plowed farmlands. The Gold Road stretched on to the north, where it ended in her destination a couple miles further on. Goldshire was nestled against a range of mountains taller than the one that she was on, and surrounded by a wall of tall wooden stakes. It was a small, meager town, no more than a mile long. On a good day, Jonquil would've considered it no more than large village.

Then she saw them. At the base of the mountain she was on, a column of men were marching up the road, heavily armored and bristling with spears and shields glinting in the sun. Jonquil noticed that four or five had bows slung over their shoulders. There were at least twenty or thirty, walking three abreast, flying a banner with a golden lion against a blue background. The banner flapped and snapped in the wind as it picked up. They were led by some lord, a man even shorter than her, barking out commands to the soldiers as they marched in an orderly fashion behind him. And they were marching straight towards her.

She leapt down from the tree and landed with a roll. She hurriedly snatched up her swordbelt and buckled it around her wide hips. Snatching up the mask, she tied it around her head once again. She grabbed the reins of the raptor and yanked him rudely away from the stream and into the trees. She had to spend another hour riding around them, half-lost in the forest. Twice she lost her way and had to double back, but by then the stars were out, and she used them to guide her back to the road.

When she emerged from the trees again, tired and hungry, she was almost at the gates of Goldshire. A steady stream of humans poured out of and into the city gates, guarded by militia with spears as tall as they were. Their armor was dinted, oversized, and mismatched, and the men wearing them were clearly planters and fishermen who didn't know much about fighting outside of which end of the spear to stick their enemies with. Jonquil looked up at the moon again, and realized that she only had a couple hours to be back to the cave.

She left Ala'na's raptor tied to a tree where it couldn't be seen, and made her way to the gates. As she got closer, she melted into the crowd of peasants. She slowed her pace and attached herself to a small group of priests with their heads bowed and their hands clasped in prayer. The guards didn't even glance at her, and two of them were asleep on their feet, leaning on their spears and snoring.

As she emerged in the town center, she broke off from following the priests. There were carts hawking everything she could imagine, selling striped tiger furs and thousands of shields with a different image painted on each one. A balding human with a booming voice was selling dinted armor and helmets, old spears and dull axes, notched swords and rusty chainmail. A busty blonde-haired woman called out her sales in a high sweet voice, yelling offers for her apples and oranges, lettuce and tomatoes, bananas and grapes. A stoop-backed old man barked his amazing deals on robes, boots, gloves, tunics, breeches, hats, and underwear, new for cheap or pre-owned for cheaper. The fattest man Jonquil had ever seen shouted about his wine for sale, as well as ale, beer, mead, goblets and cups and knives and spoons. "Whatever you have a tongue for," he sneered in Common at Jonquil as she passed. His tongue darted out as he licked his lips, his greedy eyes pouring over every inch of her body. _Humans,_ Jonquil thought with disgust, _no wonder my people hate them._ Still, a part of her felt sad—she knew that his lust would turn to hatred if she took off her mask.

At the far end of the town square were three small cages for all to see, planted firmly on a platform against a wall. Two of them had naked trolls in them, and one an orc with just a loincloth. The two trolls were long dead, and the orc was near enough that it didn't matter. A crow peeled a ribbon of skin from the dead troll's face, then pecked out his eyes. The cages were far too small for them to even sit, pressing against their skin. As the orc groaned and shifted in his prison, she could see tan lines that the bars had left on his skin. "Water, please," the orc croaked in Orcish, to no one in particular.

Jonquil grabbed a passing merchant by the sleeve, a young man of about twenty with a mop of brown hair and a wide face, carrying a crate in his arms. "What did they do?" Jonquil asked in her best Common, pointing back at the crow cages with a gloved thumb.

The young human adjusted the crate he carried. "Lord Castamere and his knights found them hiding out in the forest east of the Gold Road," he answered helpfully with a flip of his hair, "Planning a raid against us, methinks. Six of them were killed, and these three are the survivors." He turned and spat. "Still, the nine of them were enough to kill twenty-six knights before they were finally overwhelmed. And they weren't even armored."

_Of course. We are Horde, we are Steel,_ Jonquil thought with a sudden flash of pride. The old battlecry was still etched into her heart, even after years of mercenary work and less honorable deeds. Her honor as a member of the Horde had been pushed to some dark part of her soul years ago and left there to rot, and at times it was easy to forget where she came from. She had lived for gold and blood so long that she forgot what it felt like to live for honor, like she did in her younger days as a Huntress of the Horde. Suddenly Jonquil wanted to get drunk. Very drunk.

"They deserve it, filthy dogs," the human piped on, oblivious, "They don't feel pain or think like we do, you know. They have no souls, either, says my mum." He shifted his crate again and disappeared into the crowd.

She paid each of the merchants a visit in turn. After buying clothing, bandages, medicine and ale, Jonquil didn't have enough for a good meal. Instead, she brought two bags of horse-feed. It was something to eat, at least, and she supposed that she could keep hunting, even though the forest around their cave was almost empty. She slung her sack of goods over a shoulder just as it began to rain. Because she was cloaked and hooded and masked, she didn't feel the first couple raindrops. But after three heartbeats the light sprinkle picked up into a heavy storm. The humans began to clear the streets, fluttering back to their homes like roaches. The carts were locked up and closed, the merchants snug inside of taverns and brothels. Before long, the town square was empty.

Just as she was about to leave, she realized that she had forgotten something. She paid a visit to the cages again. The one live orc had his mouth open towards the sky, letting water trickle down his throat. As Jonquil stepped up to the platform, he began to lick the moisture off the iron bars of his cage.

Jonquil glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the street was empty. "We are Horde," she said in Orcish as a way of greeting.

The orc stiffened in alarm and gaped down at her dumbly from his cage. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. "We are Steel," he replied in their tongue to the masked woman. He could barely be heard over pitter-patter of rain. "I did not think to find a brother so far away from the motherland."  
"You haven't. I am no brother," she said, pulling off her mask one-handed and flashing her face. She quickly put it back on and retied the straps. "But I am Horde. I can free you, but I'll have to come back in a couple days." Her mouth ran faster than her mind, like it always did. _How the hell will I save him by myself?_

"No," he said out loud, cringing in pain. "No," he said again, softer, "I am already dead. It's too late for me," he was interrupted by a fit of coughing. As he wheezed, blood dribbled down his chin. Jonquil could only stand, helpless. She felt a pang of sadness for the first time in years.

"I am an old man, and done," he continued after he recovered. Suddenly, he did look much older to Jonquil. She could see it in the crinkles at the edge of his downcast eyes, the way his beard was a pepper-and-salt, and in the frown lines across his forehead. Still, his hands looked strong enough to grip a battleaxe or crush a throat. _This man is a veteran of The Horde, _Jonquil realized suddenly.

"I am an old man," he repeated, "Trust me. Everything I do or see reminds me of something I did or saw when I was younger," he chuckled darkly. "I have had my fill of laughter and sex, blood and glory, and now I am tired. So very tired. I only wish that I was slain in battle with my brothers, with human blood on my axe." He lifted his eyes to stare at her. One eye was green, the other black, both of them hard and staring, filled with pain. "Mercy, please, that's all I ask."

Jonquil looked around, again, but she could only see rain and empty streets, and the dull light of a lantern hanging outside of a tavern. She pulled free her knife and stepped up the platform. She hesitated in front of the bars, the rain running down her face. Then she reached through the bars and slipped her knife almost tenderly into his heart, putting all of her weight behind the thrust.

The orc smiled in a way that reminded Jonquil of her father. "That's it, done like a true Huntress of the Horde," he coughed. "Never forget who you are, who we are. We are Horde," he said with his dying breath.

Jonquil pulled her knife free as the orc sagged against the bars and wiped it on her thigh before sheathing it. "We are Steel," she whispered sadly, but he was already gone, the light gone from his eyes. She stepped down from the platform and made her way back to Felix. She seemed to float through the city gates and to the bushes where Ala'na's raptor was hidden. Heartsick, she swung up into the saddle, ripped off her mask with a growl, and wiped away her tears furiously with the back of her arm.


	13. Chapter 13

Felix poked the fire with a twig and watched the flame creep slowly up the edge until it almost reached his hand. Then he threw the twig into the base of the fire and watched it flare up as it consumed the wood. _When is Jonquil coming back? It's almost dawn._ Felix pushed a lock of coal-black hair back from his face and tucked it behind his ear with a bored expression. His hair had grown almost two inches since he'd left Janos' farm, and his whole life, behind. Looking back over his shoulder, he watched Ala'na's chest rise and sink with slow breaths beneath the furs she was covered in. Her face was flushed and feverish, as it had been since her hand was lopped off by Everett. Some part of him hated his brother for that.

But _why _was he so angry at him for hurting the troll_?_ Everett was just trying to save him from Ala'na. _Still, he didn't have to go so far as to lop her hand off. _

He turned back to the flames in their makeshift fireplace, staring deep into the shifting embers. The fire flickered and danced, and to Felix they seemed to have a strange beauty. _So beautiful, _he thought, _and so wild. _He looked deeper, deeper, as if he were sinking into the fire, and then the flames shifted and reformed before his eyes. He saw a face floating in the fire, burned and malformed and full of rage. Half of his face was a ruin, almost a skeleton, with the flesh sloshing away in the intense heat. The other half frowned with hatred, staring at him angrily, and the flames seemed to whisper, _"Traitor, turncloak, you betrayed me, you left me…" _

Felix recoiled in shock, not believing what he was seeing, but the face was gone just as fast as it appeared, and suddenly there were only flames again. His eyes brimmed with tears from the exertion of staring into the fire, and Felix looked away, rubbing his eyes with a sleeve. He looked up again when his eyes were dry, but the flames just flickered merrily. _Did I…did I imagine that? Was that…Everett? _It looked like Everett, sort of, but why was half of his face burned like that?

He heard a faint tap-tap-tap. Felix whipped his head around, looking for the source of the sound. A pebble tumbled into the cave, rolling slowly to a stop. Something was at the entrance of the cave, and from where he sat he couldn't see what.

"Hello?" Felix stood uneasily. "Jonquil, is that you?" There was no reply.

His eyes darted around for a large rock, or a knife, or anything that he could use as a weapon. He slowly crossed the cave to Jonquil's bedroll and clutched the spear that she propped up near it. He held it in front of him uneasily, his hands shaking as it gripped the shaft. "Hello," he said again, too afraid to move.

Nothing answered. _Maybe it was nothing, an errant gust of wind._ He forced one shaky foot in front of the other, edging along the cave wall towards entrance.

"HI!"

Felix wailed like a girl and fell back on his rump, hard, and broke the spear as he fell. A boy no older than him with skin as pale as milk was waving at Felix from the cave mouth, beaming a white smile. _Or is it a girl?_ It was hard to tell—he had long, straight, silver hair that flowed down past his shoulders and covered his left eye. The right eye was large and bright green, sparkling with youth. The eye was unnaturally green, greener than grass in spring, greener than the shiniest emerald. He (or she) stepped into full view, and Felix could see that he was queerly dressed, with an absurdly small sleeveless black shirt cutoff at the midriff and skin tight shorts that ended three inches above the knee. He (or she) was a good two inches taller than Felix, and was as slender as a stick with small, girlish hips and skinny arms. He sported thick gold bracelets around both wrists and ankles, and wore a large red pendant around his neck that seemed to glow in the reflection of the fireplace. He crossed the cave, and held out a hand to help Felix up, smiling the whole time as if he knew some inside joke.

Staring, Felix realized that he was either a very flat-chested female or a very feminine male, but his young age made it even harder to tell. Felix decided to consider him a male until he knew otherwise. Felix grasped the hand and was helped to his feet, where he wiped the dust off his breeches.

"My name is Rowan Longstrider," he piped excitedly, "But my friends call me Squirrel. What's your name?"

"F…Felix," he stuttered, accidently saying the name that Ala'na had given him instead of his real name. It was all happening too fast for him to think. "What are you…why are you…"

"Here?" Squirrel flipped his hair. It gleamed silver-white in the firelight. "I am an alchemist," he said as he tapped the ruby red amulet that hung from his neck, "and a mapper. You ever wonder how people know where to place mountains and streams on maps? That's my job." He bent at the hips and snatched up the two halves of the spear in his pale, girlish hands. He pushed the two halves together and half-said, half-sang a word of power in a different language that sounded queer and alien in Felix's ears. The pendant that hung from his neck seemed to glow even more with a deep red light, throbbing as if it had a heart beat, and then he held out the spear to Felix.

He grasped it and realized that it was mended so well that it looked as if it were never broken. Felix tried to bend it to no avail. It was even sturdier than before. "How did you do that? Are you a wizard or something?"

"I told you," insisted the green-eyed boy, "An alchemist. What I do is not magic; it is a simple conversion of matter. It's closer to science than magic, to be honest." The amulet grew dull once more. "Why are you here, hiding in this cave, boy? I've lived in this cave for years; this is my home, not yours."

Felix gaped. "Years? You lie. How many years old are you?"

The boy smirked with amusement. "Many and more. But that is not the point. You are in my home. I must insist that you leave at once." The bracelets around his hands and feet jangled as he passed Felix and went further into the cave floor barefooted. He seemed to just notice Ala'na.

"And what is this," he said with a sudden flicker of annoyance, as he stared down at her, "A troll? In my cave? This is getting stranger and stranger." He stepped to Ala'na. She rolled over beneath the furs as if in response, and her knee poked out from the blankets, but she did not wake.

"Well, yes," Felix began shakily, "but she—"

"Is a troll. She is the enemy of our race, fool. She will kill us when she wakes." Squirrel snatched the spear from Felix and lifted it over his head, upside down, wrapping both hands around the shaft.

The spear was wrenched from his grasp. Squirrel spun around and was shoved with a meaty green hand. He staggered back, tripped over Ala'na, and fell on his arse.

"Don't EVER touch my spear," barked Jonquil. Felix had never been so glad to see her. She seemed to sense his relief, for she glanced over at him, scowling. "Idiot boy, I leave you alone for one day and you can't even handle that. Who in the seven hells is this human?" She looked back to the boy on the ground.

The boy named Squirrel stood slowly, the bracelets around his wrists jangling loudly as he brushed off his black shorts, and bowed politely. "My name is Rowan, but my friends call me Squirrel," he said for the second time that day, but in Orcish this time. Jonquil eyed him warily, her hand clasping the hilt of her sword. Noticing her hostility, Squirrel spread his hands to show that he meant no harm. "I am not armed, nor human," he said with an easy smile, pulling back his curtain of silver hair to reveal a pointed ear. "I am an elf."

Jonquil relaxed her posture, crossed her arms across her bust, and gave a bark of laughter. "Hah! Oh, man, Ala'na is going to love this."


	14. Chapter 14

Everett sharpened his blade, and his resolve, in the darkness.

The flint made a faint whisper every time it was drawn along the edge of his longsword. A whisper of forgotten dreams, a whisper of a dark past. _Scrape, scrape, scrape, _to the rhythm of his beating heart_. _Lightning flashed, and the blade gleamed for an instant. In that instant he saw his own reflection in the well-honed sword, a ruined face half-burnt away and half-dead, before everything faded to darkness again. He guessed that it was around midnight, and the darkness combined with the falling rain made it so that he couldn't see ten feet from where he sat He was seated beneath a small shelf of rock in the midst of the forest, waiting for him to return.

And waiting.

And waiting.

Still, the rain did not slack up. It fell at a slant, and even in his snug little alcove the rain still wet his clothing. The chilling breeze did nothing to cool Everett's temper. Rage still boiled up in his belly, red and hot, whenever he thought of the troll-bitch. Everett reflected bitterly that hatred was beginning to sustain him better than food or even sleep. He had slept ten hours in the last week, and ate only twice. Everett still remembered the days as a young squire when he slept fifteen hours and would still stumble into the training yard, yawning. Likewise, he used to be able to eat more than mother and father combined and still be hungry. They were better times, simpler times.

But those days were long gone. His parents were no more than a memory, and the boy he had been would never grow up to be the knight like he dreamed so long ago. All he had left was Felix. And he wouldn't lose little brother if it cost him his life.

A rustling in the nearby bushes broke him from his thoughts. He stood, sword in hand, itching to hack something to bloody pieces. But it was only the harpist, smiling his eerie smile and dripping wet. He squeezed under the overhang next to Everett and shivered, his scrawny arms folded across his chest. His hair was long and blond, his skin pale as curdled milk, the gem hanging from his neck on a leather thong.

"Switch back," spat Everett as he took a seat again, crossing his legs, "You look like a bitch."

A flash of confusion passed the harpists face, and then he realized what Everett was talking about. "Oh, sorry," he apologized. He brushed his hair with his hands and it changed color before his eyes, from white-gold to coal-black. As Everett watched, the harpist's skin darkened from pale white to nut-brown, and his eyes shifted from emerald-green to hazel. His ears shrunk and their pointed tips were suddenly rounded off. As his appearance changed, the green gem hanging from his neck seemed to glow and pulse with an eerie light.

Everett still wasn't used to it. "How the hell do you do that? Teach me how to do it."

"Well, it's easy to change your face," said the harpist.

His heart leapt with an excitement that he hadn't felt in ages. _ Can I truly change this scarred mask?_ "Tell me how," Everett growled.

"Well, puff out your cheeks."

Everett did so, feeling absurd.

"Now stick out your tongue."

He did that too.

"Good, now your face is changed." The harpist snickered behind a girlish hand.

Everett frowned, resisting the temptation to smash his face in with his armored gauntlet. "I have no time for your games, alchemist. What news have you?"

"Well," said the harpist as he donned his glasses again, "the troll is mortally wounded. She still hasn't recovered from you maiming her, and has been unconscious since that day. That was pretty cruel, you know," he said with another smile, "but your brother is safe and sound. However, there is an unexpected…obstacle. There is an orc traveling with them, a woman, who is quite the skilled fighter herself. She seems to actually be fond of your little brother and, unfortunately, the one who stole him away from you."

"Orcs and trolls," Everett cursed. _Would that every troll and orc had but one neck, so that I could end them all with one stroke._ "I remember this orc," Everett said sadly, "She was the one who did this to me," he said as he touched his burned face, "And she, too, will die when I get the chance. And believe me," he said as thunder boomed ominously, "her death will be long and drawn out, as will the troll's."

Not only did the troll-bitch steal his brother, she had taken away his chance for redemption by killing Janos. Everett had planned to murder the slave driver for years; in fact, he didn't even trust Felix enough to tell him. His brother was weak and couldn't be trusted to keep a secret under pressure-so he slept at night dreaming of killing Janos and waiting for the right opportunity, only to have it all stolen away from him out of nowhere. She would pay for that.

"My, my. So fierce," mocked the harpist. Everett was beginning to like this boy less with every moment. They were alone, after all; if he were to kill him no one would know.

"Anyways, I would have killed the troll if she were alone," the harpist went on, oblivious, "but the orc is large and heavily armed. I could have still risked it, but I never take unnecessary risks, even for pay. I am unlike old Hyle Hunt in that respect," the harpist said, so sadly, "He was the snake; ever striking, ever vicious. I was the grass, passive and always present, and yet the grass hides the snake until it strikes. We were…quite the team."

Everett felt a pang of pity for the boy. He had never lost a lover, but he had never known one either.

"But, in better news, I have found something to keep you busy. A horde of Orc, camping out in the woods a mile north-east of here."

"Show me," said Everett at once.

Less than a half-hour later they found them, just as the harpist said they would. In a small clearing, they found four orcs and a female troll sleeping around a burnt-out campfire with bits of meat and bone laying around. The rain did not seem to affect them in the slightest.

"Look at them," Everett whispered to the harpist crouching at his side, "The beasts are so stupid that they didn't even set a watch. This is going to be easy." His hand twitched at his side, eager for battle. _Since when do I enjoy killing? What am I becoming?_ But a second thought was, _They deserve no more than death. Kill them all, kill them bloody. Cut their throats, watch them bleed, watch them die._

"Be quick about it, though," replied the harpist, "there might be more nearby in hiding."

So he charged them, sword in hand, dagger in the other. He impaled one Orc through the heart before he could wake, wrenched it out, and slashed another's throat open with as he tried to rise with a backhanded swing and a spray of crimson_. _The third scrambled to his feet and reached for his weapon, grunting like a pig around his tusks.He brought his axe up just as Everett's sword came down, but the axe was rusted bronze and the longsword was castle-forged steel. The blade parted the axehead like butter and cleaved into his head with a satisfying crunch, splitting it in half like a melon, as blood and brain sprayed in Everett's face.

He turned to face the last one, scrambling backwards and grunting in his foreign language, raising his hand and pleading for mercy, his eyes wild with terror. Everett gripped a handful of his filthy black hair and stabbed him in the eyes and throat with his knife, again and again and again, as the blood ran down and dripped from his elbows to be absorbed by the forest floor. The rain washed away all the blood, all his pain, all his guilt.

He stood and surveyed the grisly scene, strewn with mutilated corpses, breathing heavily. Only then did he realize that there had been a troll, but he was nowhere to be found. The harpist, also, was long gone.

Everett looked for a trail of tracks in the dark and in the rain, and found them. A trail of panicked footsteps leading north. He followed them for thirty feet, where he found the troll crouching in the bushes and crying in fear. He stepped over her, bloody blade in hand, as the lightning flashed above. The lightning illuminated her, and Everett could see that she was pregnant. Very pregnant, with an arm rapped protectively over the swell of her belly.

"Do it," the troll spat shakily in awkward Common, "Go ahead, kill me like you did the rest. But spare my baby, please; it has done no harm to you or anyone else."

Everett was surprised. He had no idea that the beasts had the intelligence to speak his language. Somehow he felt offended. _How dare she taint our pure language?_

"I will kill you both," said Everett in a grim voice. He could feel the burnt half of his face twitching as he frowned. He had waited too long for this. Although it was not the troll-bitch he was looking for, she was still close enough.

"I did nothing wrong," pleaded the troll, tears streaming down her cheeks in the rain.

"You should not have come here, this is _human _territory!" Everett shouted defensively, with a flash of…what? Pity? Frustration? Guilt? He wasn't sure; it was gone as fast as it appeared.

"What did you think would happen?" he said, quieter. Suddenly he felt as if his head were about to burst.

"My god will curse you," the troll said confidently, "You will know nothing but hatred and death for the rest of your life, until it consumes you, and you will take the very thing you love most from yourself."

"I am not afraid of your demon god," replied Everett as he pushed the tip of his blade into her belly almost gently, rasping as it slid along her spine, until it came out through her back and pinned her to the forest floor. She howled in agony and grabbed the blade with her bare hands, gritting her teeth, trying to pull it out. Her fingers began to bleed, dripping down the length of his sword. She wept in pain, she struggled, and finally she died with a curse on her lips and tears on her cheeks.

Everett twisted and yanked his sword free. "If your god loved you he would not have put you here, in front of me," he said to the corpse.

The rain fell even harder.


	15. Chapter 15

_I__s it…raining?_ She could barely make out a distant pitter-patter.

Ala'na sat up and kicked off the furs. The stump of her right hand was bound neatly in fresh linen. _So it wasn't a dream. Or am I still dreaming even now?_ She flexed her left hand, staring at it. _How will I fight left handed? How will I write?_ Sadness suddenly overwhelmed her; she would have to start all over and learn how to do everything again, left handed.

She examined the rest of herself, and realized that she was naked beneath the furs she had been sleeping in. _When did that happen…?_ Her body was thinner than it had ever been. Confusion, thirst, and hunger overwhelmed her, and her body smelled like sweat and filth. She stood shakily, light headed, and shook her head to clear away the cobwebs in her mind. Her thoughts felt sluggish as if they were drenched in honey. She glanced around the cave. Jonquil was snoring with her head bowed, sitting with her arms and legs crossed. She was near the entrance of the cave, her sword unsheathed and balanced across her knees.

Felix was curled up in a ball near the campfire beneath a pile of furs. Relief flooded her instantly. She suddenly realized that she had been more worried about him than herself. His demon of a brother had failed to take him back, and somehow that made everything bearable, even the loss of her hand. Watching him sleep peacefully, she silently resolved to treat him better in the future. She padded barefoot across the cave, snatching up an old dirty shirt as she quietly snuck past Jonquil. Pausing to examine the orc, she mouthed a prayer of gratitude for having met her. Ala'na would have been dead a long time ago without her, and Felix would have been a thousand miles away by now. She noticed a half-empty waterskin in Jonquil's lap and realized how thirsty she was. She plucked that up, too, and made her way into the howling storm. The rain was surprisingly and pleasantly warm against her bare skin. It felt good to be alive, to have the wind howling in her ears, to inhale the rich smell of pine trees, to feel the wet leaves squish between her toes.

She made her way down to the shallow pool at the base of the cave and slowly climbed in, careful to keep her stump above water. She could see the dirt and dried blood sloughing off her to congeal on the top of the water. She dipped her head underwater and came back up, shaking out her violet locks. She had never been so happy to be clean. _Where did I put that waterskin?_ Splashing over to the edge of the pool she snatched up the skin and took a deep swig, almost gagging when she realized it was a strong wine. Ala'na could feel warm tendrils snaking down her chest and into her belly.

She was tipsy by the time she emerged from the pool. She staggered back up to the cave mouth, planning to sleep for at least a little while longer. Her head was swimming, and Ala'na could feel a blush rising in her cheeks. _I think I drank too much._

Slipping a nightgown over her head clumsily, Ala'na took a moment to check on Felix before returning to bed. She peeled back the furs he slept under. Felix's lips were parted as he breathed in and out slowly. His hair was longer than she remembered, far past his shoulders at this point. His body had grown, as well; he was a little taller and less girlish than she remembered, and his skin was almost tan compared to the pale complexion he had when she had first met him. _How long was I out?_

She bent over him and curled a lock of hair behind his ear as he slept, planting a sloppy drunken kiss on his forehead. Felix stirred awake slowly, batting his long eyelashes. "Ala'na?"

_I wonder what it would feel like to…_Ala'na kissed him in the mouth, deeply, passionately. His eyes widened in shock, then slowly closed, and suddenly he was kissing her back. Ala'na wrapped an arm around his lithe body and pulled him closer, tilting her head so as not to poke him with her tusks.

She broke off and kissed his throat instead, biting him gently just to see his response. He squirmed in her grasp, but bared his neck to her all the same. She could begin to hear him moaning deep in his throat, like a purring cat, and found it amusing. Ala'na, smiling and drunk, slipped her good hand down his navel and between his thighs, giving him a squeeze. Felix gasped.

Then she turned away and went to bed without a word, leaving Felix stunned, blushing, and breathless.


End file.
